


Unlikely Inquisitor

by ROSCwWAP



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dragon Age: Origins Spoilers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 107,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ROSCwWAP/pseuds/ROSCwWAP
Summary: Renley finds herself in the realm of Thedas. Entangled in a plot that will set her on the path to become Inquisitor, her knowledge of what's to come serves her well initially. But the script frays with every deviation, and soon she’ll learn that pulling at threads comes with dire consequences.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Comments: 130
Kudos: 69





	1. An Alien World

A cool breeze swept over Renley's body making her shiver and perhaps more importantly made her realize...she was naked. Her cheek clung to the smooth rock beneath her as she lifted her head. She gathered herself and knelt on the stone.

What she saw looked alien. A barren wasteland of jagged jetstone and swirling green mists. It was, to put it mildly, overwhelming.

As she rose, this alien world seemed to rotate about her worsening her disorientation. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to stifle her swoon.

Light pricked her lids. They snapped open and fell upon a blaze of white atop a towering set of stairs.

She stumbled forward and as her foot graced the threshold, she heard a noise that instinctively made her think of an abundance of bats taking flight. Over her shoulder a stampede of spiders the size of small cars skittered toward her.

Tripping over herself with shock, she sprinted in the direction of the light, each breath like razors in her throat.

As she neared the top, she could see now that the light was humanoid. It reached out and Renley threw herself to the being, a beacon of a hope in an alien world, and was blinded in its light.

***

Renley regained her wits to a troubling turn of events. Her wrists were bound and anchored to the floor with chains. Four armored individuals glowered down at her.

She took stock of her body. It felt different, looked different it was...glowing? She found the source of the eerie glow in her palm. And then she felt it. It was pain, but it was power, surging through her fingertips and up her arm.

“The mark,” her breath fogged on frozen air.

She flexed her fingers and realization dawned on her. The corner of her mouth tilted as she marveled at her circumstances. She had experienced this story many times. But never in person.

The cell door swung open and in walked the Left and Right Hand of the Divine. Renley’s heart nearly stopped.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?” spat Cassandra, mere inches away, “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Renley suddenly became extremely aware that she was in fact, still naked. Her face grew hot as she studied the Seeker. Was this a weird glitch that she was to suffer? Could no one else see her nakedness? Or did they just not care?

Cassandra grabbed Renley’s wrist and held up her marked hand. "Explain this."

It was in that moment, standing bare before the actualization of a fictional being, that Renley became completely overwhelmed. A nervous laugh escaped her lips.

Cassandra’s expression went from angry to furious as she brought her free hand up as if to hit Renley.

Luckily, Leliana intervened. “We need her, Cassandra.”

“Hi.” Renley cringed internally at her own ineptitude. She drew a deep, shaking breath, “My name is Renley, and I’m on your side.”

The two women looked at her with aggressive disbelief. Leliana glanced at Cassandra then continued, “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

“I-" she shivered and huddled in on herself "-would be more than happy to discuss the matter further. Once I’m no longer naked.”

Cassandra blinked, as if just realizing this was the case, and averted her gaze. She cleared her throat and spoke to one of the guards, “Find some clothes.”

The soldier nodded and hurried from the cell. Renley's mind raced as they waited. The air was cold on her skin, the stone hard beneath her feet, the mark burning in her palm. There was no denying it. This world was real. And what was she to do about that?

The soldier returned with a random assortment of clothing. Renley put them on, the guards unshackling her briefly so she could don her shirt.

Making her mind up all at once, she squared her shoulders and faced Leliana. “I’d like to speak with you. Alone.”

Cassandra bristled. “You will speak now or you can rot in this cell.”

“So be it,” Renley called her bluff.

Leliana exchanged a loaded look with the Seeker. Cassandra exited the cell along with the guards. Renley could practically see the words in her mind's eye. 'Cassandra greatly disapproves'.

The door closed with a thump and Leliana folded her arms. She fixed Renley with a cold penetrating stare. “Well?”

Swallowing her nerves, Renley made her reply, “I’m not from here.”

“That much is clear.”

“I mean to say, I’m not from this world. I woke up in the fade, cold and disoriented, and when I stumbled out I was here. In a world I didn’t think existed.”

“So." She stepped forward eyeing her prisoner with contempt. "You think you’re from another world?”

“A world, a timeline, a dimension. I don’t really know." She held a finger up before her, as though asking for one more moment. "But I can prove it."

Leliana cocked an eyebrow at her.

Renley continued, metal links slithering over stone as she drew closer, “I can tell you things that no one else knows. I can recount events that haven’t happened yet with detail that would astonish you. I know how to seal the Breach and I also know that once I do, our work, our alliance, will have only just begun.”

The chain clinked as Renley met its limit.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, if anyone found out what I know, future events could change. We'd lose our ability to influence the outcome. But you," her brow knitted with conflict, her next words spoken quietly as though trying to breathe truth into them, "you can handle it."

After a beat of silence Renley shrugged and smiled nervously. "You're my Spymaster."

She was met with a look of incredulity from Leliana. The two women stood nearly toe to toe, taking the measure of one another. Renley noticed her eyes more than anything. Striking, pale blue eyes like clear midday sky.

Or perhaps ice blue would be a more appropriate descriptor. The chill emanating from Leliana was palpable. But there was more there. It was barely perceptible but Renley could see the flicker of intrigue.

She hadn't lost her yet. If Renley could just give the right details...

"Let me tell you what I know."


	2. My First Rift

Cassandra exited the cell, fuming. The events at the conclave had significantly shortened her fuse. But she had to remain level headed. This lone survivor could provide vital information in their efforts to close the Breach. And truth be told, there was no one she trusted more with an interrogation than Leliana.

She paced down the hall from the prisoner's cell. What did the prisoner say their name was? Renley? Whoever she was, she was certainly odd. And not just in behavior.

She had the body of a warrior, tall and lean. And that scar... a scar that went diagonally across the middle of her face. Add the eerie glow from the mark and Renley made quite an intimidating presence. That is, of course, until she opened her mouth.

She paused, listening hard, hoping to catch a word coming from the cell. Nothing. She continued pacing. The prisoner, she was told, had collapsed the moment she stumbled out of the fade. Did she create the explosion? Was this strange person capable of such destruction?

The creaking of the cell door jarred her from her thoughts. She returned to Leliana.

“Well?”

“I don’t quite know what to think yet. She does seem genuinely confused about her situation. Perhaps even... addled.”

They looked at the prisoner who was scratching her nose with her marked hand. The mark flared and the prisoner recoiled into a sneezing fit.

Cassandra sighed, "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana glanced back at Renley. The prisoner smirked, her manner oddly demure for one so thoroughly entangled in misfortune.

***

Cassandra marched Renley from the dungeons and into the village of Haven. Snow capped mountains stood tall in the distance, and looming over them...

“We call it the Breach.”

A chill rolled through Renley as she beheld the Breach. This swirling green hole in the sky. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

“It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

Green flashed in Renley's hand. She fell to her knees, fire coursing through her arm.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but, there isn’t much time.”

Renley wanted so much to stop and think for a moment. She needed to scheme, to map out her dialogue, but this world wasn’t waiting on her. She had to act.

She rose to her feet, ignoring the burn lingering in her fist, "Lead the way.”

“Then...?”

“I'm with you, Seeker.”

***

The valley was a war zone. Soldiers lay dead in the snow, supplies were on fire, literal demons fell from the sky. They made their way along a gradual incline until a bridge materialized in the distance, crossing the frozen river. As they neared it, the mark flared. Renley tripped through the snow and on to her knees.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra pulled Renley to her feet from beneath her arm, “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

Renley was eye to eye with Cassandra, unshackled on level ground for the first time. The Seeker stood at least an inch taller. In this light Renley could really see just how intimidating Cassandra was to her. Her angular features and natural arch of her eyebrows were beautiful and daunting.

“How did I end up here?” mused Renley.

“They say you... stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything further in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

"Right," she muttered, "That's- what I meant."

As they approached the river, Renley’s heart began to race, "Be on your guard."

The Seeker threw a sharp look at her prisoner, "Do not-"

Molten rock struck the bridge as they neared its middle. Renley tried clinging to the crumbling stone but to no avail. She hit the frozen river below and the breath was knocked from her.

“Stay behind me!” she heard from somewhere. But Renley was on her hands and knees gasping for air wondering if perhaps she had collapsed her rib cage.

Just as she was able to upright herself, another meteor came crashing down before her. A dark form took shape from the wreckage. Renley picked up a shortsword and turned to face the shadowy figure.

The shade advanced and Renley stabbed it, sinking her sword deep into its midsection. The shade shrieked and dug into her opposite shoulder with a pincer like claw. Fueled by adrenaline she withdrew her sword. Thick black liquid poured out and onto her boots. She stabbed the shade again and it gave one last horrible shriek as it melted away into nothing.

“Drop your weapon, " the Seekers blade, gritty with demon ichor, rested inches from Renley's nose, "Now."

“Have it your way,” she replied through gritted teeth. Three large puncture wounds oozed blood causing her shirt to freeze to her arm. Her sword hit the ice with a metallic thud.

“Let me see,” Cassandra slit the shoulder of Renley’s shirt and examined her shoulder, “Can you move it?”

Renley tried lifting her arm but the pain was overwhelming, “It will be fine with time. I have three limbs left and that’s what matters,” she smiled at Cassandra who, to Renley’s surprise, gave a small smirk in return.

"It should hold until we make it to forward camp. In the meantime," Cassandra knelt down and retrieved Renley's sword, "I cannot expect you to be defenseless," she offered her the blade handle first, "I should remember that you agreed to come willingly."

***

They made their way down the river and up the mountain without further incident. Renley was starting to feel more comfortable with a sword in her hand, and focused on dodging incoming blows more than anything. 

“We’re getting close to the rift," called Cassandra, "You can hear them fighting.”

Renley shivered with anticipation. This was the moment she would meet her first companions.

They crested the hill to a scene of soldiers and demons, fighting beneath the rift. Cassandra jumped in at once, finishing the nearest shade with a single blow. Renley took a slightly different tactic and flanked a shade. She felled it with a thrust of her blade. After only a few minutes, the demons were defeated.

“Quickly! Before more come through!” it was Solas. He grabbed Renley’s wrist and thrust it forward.

In addition to the searing pain that shot through her injured shoulder, she also experienced the pain of closing a rift for the first time. Different from a flare, though not dissimilar, this sensation was, in Renley’s mind at least, more like handling a massive amount of raw solar energy. The heat, the light, the vibration. But it didn’t last long. A few seconds later the rift was closed and the party, minus Renley whose shoulder felt as though it were on fire, breathed a collective sigh.

“What did you do!?” groaned Renley, tending to her now profusely bleeding wound.

“I did nothing,” began Solas, still looking at the place where the rift had been, “The credit is-”

Cassandra interrupted, “She means her shoulder.” She placed a hand over Renley’s wound attempting to slow the bleeding and reached into a small pouch on her belt, "I’m out of healing potion.”

Solas walked forward, “May I?” he placed two fingers on the shoulder and Renley felt an automatic sense of relief. She had full range of motion back.

“Thank you, S-” Renley stuttered, she wasn’t supposed to know his name yet, “s-sorry I don’t think I caught your name?”

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept',” Varric made his entrance. He was perfect. From his voice, to his chest hair, to the air of swagger he sauntered over with, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” he ended with a wink at Cassandra who scowled.

Renley could hide her smile no longer, “It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

“You may reconsider that stance, in time,” drawled Solas.

“Aww. I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Solas.”

“Speaking of Solas,” Renley turned to face him, “You're saying you watched me? After I left the fade?”

“I did,” Solas seemed pleased with himself.

She narrowed her eyes, irked by the air of superiority he presented himself with, “Can you explain the nakedness then?”

A faint blush crept into his cheeks. His neck muscles stiffened, “Well I-”

Renley chuckled and slapped his shoulder, “I’m just fucking with you, I don’t actually care. Let’s go take care of that Breach.” 

She nodded at Varric as she passed. The dwarf grinned from ear to ear, “Oh, I think we’ll get along just fine.”


	3. The Breach

The party made their way up the mountain drawing ever closer to the forward camp. They encountered more demons, more burning wagons which Renley was secretly grateful for as they offered a brief respite from the brutal cold of the mountains, and just before the gate to the forward camp...

“Another rift!” Cassandra shouted.

“We must seal it, quickly!” Solas' voice was full of determination. It annoyed Renley further. This was all his fault after all.

They finished the demons and Renley raised her mark to the rift. With her shoulder healed, she was able to experience the sensation in its entirety.

Like before it was hot and bright. The energy sent violent vibrations up her arm but Renley realized she could focus this energy back toward the rift and therein lay the key sealing it. Perhaps she couldn’t see it earlier because of her injury, or maybe because Solas had taken the reins the first time. Maybe this was what it was like to handle magic. Renley could only dream.

“The rift is gone! Open the gate!” called Cassandra.

Solas came to Renley’s side, “We are clear for the moment. Well done.”

Renley stayed silent. She had to play along with Solas, at least for now. He would be her ally too, for a time.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric appeared on Renley’s other side.

“Do you want it?” Renley joked, “Kind of hurts but the glow is nice.”

Varric chuckled, “I couldn’t, really. It suits you too well.”

The four marched in to camp and Renley felt a boost of confidence. They were a sight to behold she was sure, spattered with demon ichor.

There was Cassandra who was sufficiently intimating anyway, Varric who always had a mischievous sparkle in his eye, Solas who was stoic and mysterious, and herself, the criminal who was rumored responsible for the explosion at the conclave. Soldiers stole glances at the four of them as they made their way over to Leliana and Chancellor Roderick. Their voices were raised in the heat of debate.

“Here we go,” Renley sighed under her breath.

Renley listened in silence as the argument unfolded. She was glad to see there weren’t major deviations from the script. The one thing that did seem off was Leliana. She said the same words but they weren’t her sole focus. Renley hoped she was seeing the truth of what she had revealed in the dungeon.

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra looked at Renley.

“We take the mountain pass.”

***

The route through the mountain pass went smoothly enough. They killed a few more demons, saved the missing scouts and Renley had her practice closing another rift. Before she knew it, they were approaching the Breach.

“The temple of Sacred Ashes,” announced Solas.

“What’s left of it,” added Varric.

Cassandra stepped forward, “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Renley exhaled. Before her was a smoldering ruin of corpses, all mangled beyond recognition. Seeing the destruction in reality was... intense. She may be living the narrative of this game, but it wasn’t a game anymore. It was real. The pungent smell of burning hair was enough to dispel any doubt she'd been harboring.

Her party followed as she made forward.

“The Breach is a long way up,” mused Varric.

“You’re here! Thank the Maker.” Leliana approached with a group of scouts at her heels.

“Have your men take up positions around the temple,” ordered Cassandra.

Leliana touched eyes with Renley before departing, her expression guarded.

“This is your chance to end this," Cassandra faced Renley, "Are you ready?”

It wouldn't end things, really. But it would provide them with a respite, however brief. And a nap, how sorely Renley longed for a nap.

“I'm ready."

***

The battle that followed was surreal. The pride demon was a ruthless beast, shaking with sardonic laughter. It towered over the clearing, electricity sparking from its fingers.

Renley took advantage of her rush of adrenaline and charged at the demon's feet, slashing at its ankles and reminding herself to disrupt the rift when the demon donned its armor. After a brutal half hour of fighting the demon was down.

“Now! Seal the rift!” called Cassandra.

Renley raised her mark and felt the energy gather in her hand.

“Do it!”

She connected with the rift and the amount of energy she felt was monumental. It threatened to overwhelm her. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision and she longed in that moment to give in to her fatigue.

With great effort, she brought her left foot forward and gave the remainder of her will to the mark.


	4. The Herald of Andraste

Renley regained consciousness but she didn’t open her eyes. Wrapped in warm blankets, and resting comfortably on a soft bed, she had every intention of going straight back to sleep. This world however, had other intentions. She rolled over, burrowing deeper into her blankets, but...

Clang! Renley sat bolt upright to see a young elven woman with a terrified expression.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake; I swear!”

Renley looked at her, eyes puffy with exhaustion. She stretched and made to get out of bed but, “Wha- oh, Jesus Christ!” she was naked, again. “Who keeps letting this happen!?”

The elven woman fell to her knees, “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

“Oh, I-”

“You’re back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

“Three days, and I still feel like I could sleep more.”

“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’!”

Renley’s stomach turned over. _Cassandra._

***

Cassandra paced in a room at the back of Haven’s Chantry. They had set this space up as a makeshift war room. She stopped to examine the map at its center. The hearth radiated a comfortable heat at her back as she looked it over. But she could not focus. Her thoughts kept wandering...

It had been three days since the events at the Breach, and the villagers of Haven had deemed her former captive ‘Herald of Andraste’. Cassandra rubbed her eyes and rested her elbows on the map. It had been a sight to behold, seeing the Herald unleash the power of her mark. Cassandra reflected back to that moment.

The Herald planted her feet and raised her hand to the sky. A flash of green erupted from the mark and connected to the rift. For a moment Cassandra thought she had seen her waver.

“Do it!” she pleaded.

And then the Herald stepped forward unleashing a wave of green, like bolts of lightning, from her hand. Cassandra had been near enough to feel the heat radiating from the light. To hear her cry out in pain as the mark disconnected from the rift with a sound like thunder.

The Herald fell to her knees, beads of sweat dripping down her ashen face. She had managed to catch her before she hit the ground. She laid her down carefully as others gathered around them. Pushing the hair back from her brow, Cassandra could feel how warm the Herald was...

“Ah, seeker.”

Cassandra bristled, “Chancellor.”

***

Renley, after finding a suitable set of clothes, made her way to the Chantry. The people of the village looked much different now, without their scowls and jeers. And Renley was glad for it. Things were going well.

She entered the Chantry and was immediately taken with its beauty. It reminded her of something from a fantasy adventure.

_Oh, right._

She decided to poke around a bit before interrupting Cassandra and Roderick’s argument. On her left stood a small alcove adorned with a high table, lots of candles and a gleaming silver platter. It was pristine enough to see her reflection and-

“What the fuck is that-”

She grabbed the plate bringing it inches from her nose, “I have a scar. A huge fucking scar..." she ran a finger over the smooth white line, "Where did this come from?”

Someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned to see Leliana watching her with a curious expression.

Renley, plate still in hand, broke the silence, “It would seem you’ve caught me in a compromising position.”

Leliana sighed, “Indeed I have. May I have a word?”

She followed Leliana down into the dimly lit dungeons, “Have you decided to re-imprison me?”

“Not quite. Though it’s always an option.”

They stopped a short way in and Leliana turned to face Renley, “The claims you made to me when we first met have all come true. I’ve been thinking it over and... I really don’t see how it could be just coincidence. I mean to say that... I do believe you know what will happen next, but I don’t how you know, and that is what worries me.”

“What can I do to ease your worry?”

“Tell me more," her eyes were illuminated in the flickering flame of candle. The effect was chilling, "What happens next?”

“Where did I leave off?” Renley leaned a shoulder against a stone pillar, avoiding the others piercing gaze.

“You told me about Chancellor Roderick. You mentioned Varric and Solas. You recounted the events perfectly... all the way until we assault the Breach and fight the pride demon.”

“Well..." Renley exhaled, collecting her thoughts, "Next you gather our team. Cullen, is our Commander, leader of our forces. Josephine Montilyet will be our Ambassador. And you," she looked at her confidant, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "Our Spymaster.”

“And what role will you play?”

“For a while, I’ll be the Herald of Andraste," she gesticulated the title, "A face for the cause. But after certain events, I’ll be named Inquisitor.”

Shadow enveloped the Spymaster as she turned away from the Herald, “There’s no way you should have known of the Inquisition. Or Josephine. After the Breach you were out for three days. My agents watched you.”

Silence yawned in the dungeon. For a moment Renley wondered if she'd made a mistake. Perhaps her circumstances were too bizarre to be believed.

“A true Herald of Andraste,” whispered Leliana.

And then she remembered. When Leliana was first introduced in the series, she had believed the Maker spoke to her in a dream. This vision led to her involvement in the Fifth Blight. If Leliana believed in such things, surely she had the capacity to believe in this.

“Leliana,” her heart quickened as eyes of purest blue sought her own, “I’m telling you this because I believe by doing so, we can save lives."

What was it exactly that had stirred her nerves so thoroughly? There were many details to worry on. But convincing the Left Hand of the Divine was what concerned her most.

"I can’t do this on my own," she met the others gaze at last, smothering the flutters in her stomach, "I need you on my side.”

***

Renley approached the door to the war room after giving Leliana enough time to get into place. She heard the arguing and walked right on in, not pausing to listen.

Roderick, Leliana, Cassandra and two guards were all standing around the war table.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that, and leave us.” Cassandra dismissed them with a wave of her hand. The guards saluted and left without hesitation. Renley tried to hide her amusement.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“The anchor and I are at your disposal,” declared Renley with a small smile. She thought she saw Cassandra smirk if only for a moment.

“You have done quite enough. Your actions will be taken accountable by the new divine,” Roderick threatened.

“Have a care Chancellor. The breach is not the only threat we face.” replied Cassandra.

Leliana cut in, “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

“I am a suspect?” Roderick was now beet red.

“You, and many others.” replied Leliana.

“But not the prisoner.”

Cassandra stepped forward, “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help.”

“So, her survival, that thing on her hand – all coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra looked at Renley, “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Her face grew warm with the Seekers declaration, “I um-” How _did_ she end up in Thedas? “I thought maybe I was just unlucky.”

“We lost everything...” Cassandra continued, “Then, out of nowhere, you came.”

“The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” said Leliana.

“That is not for you to decide!” Roderick had reached his boiling point.

Cassandra grabbed a large book from the corner of the table and slammed it down before them, “You know what this is Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,” Cassandra turned on Roderick who withered under her glare, “We will close the Breach, we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick flounced from the chamber, fuming.

“This is the Divine’s directive:" Leliana continued, "Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader,” her eyes flicked to Renley, “no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. We must act now,” Cassandra looked to the Herald, “With you at our side.”


	5. Settling In

The village of Haven was alive with activity. Inquisition banners were being hung, newly recruited soldiers were training, and the villagers in Haven were doing what they could. The blacksmith used what materials he had to help outfit soldiers, the apothecary tended to wounded survivors, and the tavern served more patrons than perhaps it ever had. No one sat idle on this day, not while there was work to be done.

Renley walked through the great room of the Chantry at Cassandra’s side. She looked down at the mark in her left hand. It was not quite what she’d expected, just a series of glowing green lines forming no particular shape.

Cassandra noticed, “Does it trouble you?”

“It’s...” they had arrived at the door to the war room. Cassandra turned to face her and Renley continued, “It’s not what I expected.”

Cassandra furrowed her brow, “Expected?”

 _Oops._ Renley tried to recover, “When it was... flaring and sparking I couldn’t really see it. But now that it’s settled,” they both leaned in to examine the mark.

Renley glanced at Cassandra, “It’s strange, don’t you think? No shape, no symbols... just lines.”

Cassandra examined the mark for a moment longer, “Your other hand...”

Renley looked at Cassandra, questioning. Cassandra offered her own hands to Renley who began to panic internally. This was _not_ part of the game. Renley offered her hands in return and Cassandra took them into her own, grasping them at the fingers and rotating her wrists down gently.

“Yes, you see there...”

Renley leaned in slightly to see what she was referring to.

Cassandra continued, “The lines of your mark are the same as the lines on your opposite hand.”

Renley scoffed, “Nothing gets past me,” she looked up at Cassandra with a sly smile, “Except of course the anatomy of my own body.”

Cassandra smirked, “Hold on to that sense of humor.” She released Renley’s fingers and opened the door to the war room.

Inside stood the council.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are,” Cullen regarded Renley, “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Cassandra continued, “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and chief diplomat.”

Renley forgot to breathe for a moment. Josephine Montilyet was incredibly beautiful as she had known she would be. But in person... she was striking.

“I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last,” Josephine made her introduction.

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana,” Cassandra continued with introductions.

“My position here involves a degree of...”

“She is our Spymaster.”

“Yes,” Leliana’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the term, “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

They continued with their meeting, discussing Templars and mages and how to earn their attentions. Leliana brought up Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands and the way was set. They then turned their attentions to the war table to see what other tasks they could set their resources to in the meantime.

***

Renley walked from the Chantry and wandered out in to the Village of Haven. Nothing was prompting her. No compass in the corner of her vision, no health bar or journal full of quests to accomplish. The script, for a time, was over. Now she would have to carve her own path.

The village was still buzzing with activity, and it was a good day for it. The sun was out and the sky was clear. She walked down through the gates and into the valley to the soldier's barracks. Four straw dummies stood off to the side, a barrel of training weapons among them. Renley walked to the barrel and drew a shortsword. How long did she have before they were dispatched to the Hinterlands? She spun the sword in her hand and swung it halfheartedly. It didn’t feel so bad, but she would be useless against a learned foe.

“The sword suits you.”

She spun around to see Cassandra sauntering toward her. Renley chuckled, “I’m a little lost with it.”

“I could give you some instruction,” Cassandra drew a sword from the barrel and began circling Renley, “You held your own against one demon. But what happens when you are surrounded?”

Renley tensed. Were they starting now? Should she be doing something? Cassandra stepped toward her and readied her sword.

“Look at my stance. Mirror me.”

Renley obliged.

Cassandra circled her once more, critiquing her stance, “Left foot forward. Shoulders back,” she stopped at her sword hand, arranging Renley’s fingers in a proper grip. She stepped back to study the result. Renley’s muscles were starting to tense.

“Hold what you have,” Cassandra returned to the barrel and grabbed a parrying dagger. She returned to Renley and offered it to her free hand, “Hold it, just like you have your sword. Bend your knees a bit more, widen your stance,” she stepped back, taking in the result, “It looks natural. A good fit for your stature.”

"Now then," Cassandra readied her sword, "Let us begin.”

***

Renley returned to her room that night, body aching and stomach growling. They had trained for hours, and she had loved every minute. If this was a reincarnation it was a good one. She would be happy to fill her days with sword fighting and her nights with ale at the tavern.

She slipped out of her sweat stained shirt and washed her face in the basin. Putting on a fresh pair of clothes she noticed new bruises. Cassandra was not a merciful trainer. Every mistake had been paid for in full.

She looked at herself in the old blotchy mirror above the basin and ran her fingers through her hair, grateful that it was only chin length. Less to manage was good. With a hot meal and a cold drink on her mind, she made her way to the tavern. Each step made a satisfying crunch in the snow as she began her walk. She was grateful for the stillness of the night. Haven had the tendency to be windy, and icy wind stung.

“Well, if it isn’t the Herald of Andraste.”

“Varric,” it was now completely dark out, so dark in fact that if it weren’t for Varric’s voice, she might not have recognized him at all, “How about a drink?”

The two headed to the crowded tavern and grabbed the only available seats. The waitress brought them each a mug of ale and sat them down with a wink and a smile, “It’s on the house.”

Varric smiled, “I’m so embarrassed. This always happens to me.”

“It’s the chest hair, I’m sure,” Renley took a swig of her ale.

Varric chuckled, “Seriously though,” he took a sip of his drink and continued, “Are you alright? Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“I suppose they would," Renley smiled, "Not me though. If I spread things out too much how will I ever have any time to myself?”

Varric grunted and sipped his ale.

Renley leaned forward and looked down at the frothy gold contents of her drink, “Honestly though... I’m scared shitless,” she chuckled softly and grabbed her tankard of ale.

"Bad for morale’ would be an understatement,” Varric grabbed his own tankard, “I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“You and me both.”

They spent a fair amount of time in the tavern that night, getting to know each other. It was a rather one sided conversation however. She couldn’t explain to Varric how she wasn’t from this world. And even if she could, memories from her former life were still very hazy. So she stuck to, ‘I don’t remember much before waking up in the fade,’ and, ‘I’m hoping it comes back to me soon.’

Overall, it was an enjoyable night. Renley, as Varric pointed out, could hold her own in the business of drinking, and the tavern held a contagious energy. Not unlike the energy one might feel on the eve of a celebration.

***

As soon as Renley woke up the following morning, she made her way down to the training grounds.

“Ah,” Cassandra sheathed her sword, “I was wondering when I’d see you again. I thought you’d need a day to recover.”

“I like the bruises. They give me character.”

Cassandra huffed, “Grab your swords then.”

They trained for the better part of the morning. Cassandra, in addition to being a skilled swordsman, was also an excellent teacher, and as the hours wore on the technique began to click for Renley.

“I think we’ll end there for now,” said Cassandra, looking at the sun, “It’s nearly midday.”

“Thanks for this, Cassandra,” said Renley still trying to catch her breath.

“You are a good student. I think with a few more months of training you will make a formidable swordsman.”

Renley laughed, “We may not have that long.”

“You are a fast learner. Soon you will be skilled enough to handle yourself on the battle field. But that’s not all you will need to know. Head up to the Chantry and find Josephine.”

Renley nodded and made to leave.

“Herald,” called Cassandra, “Meet me here at sun up tomorrow. We will continue our training then.”

***

Renley made her way through the village. The path was becoming familiar. She felt a pang of nostalgia as she walked. How many more times would she walk this path before it was lost to the might of the mountains avalanche? Instead of going straight to the Chantry as Cassandra had suggested, she stopped at Leliana’s tent. She found her praying. Renley waited for her to finish.

“...in their blood the Maker’s will is written. Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done? Is death your only blessing?” Leliana straightened up, “You speak for Andraste, no?”

“How did you even know I was here?” asked Renley.

Leliana stood, “What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s his game?”

“Game?” the word stood out to Renley.

“Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? Even if you didn't support the Divine’s peace you wouldn't call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives – the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?”

Renley sighed. Leliana was grieving. She'd never given it much thought in the game, and the dialogue wheel wasn't popping up here. What do you say to a person who is grieving? Especially in the midst of an apocalyptic hole in the sky.

“I’m sorry, Leliana. Justinia meant a lot to you.”

“Not just to me. All of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart!” Leliana placed her hands on the table before her and bowed her head, “If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing.”

Renley walked further into the tent and placed her hands on the table opposite Leliana.

“I’ve told you that I’m not from this world. So, I don’t know much about the Maker but, I do know... that when I stepped out of the fade, the first person I needed to talk to was you.”

Leliana looked up at her.

Renley continued, “Whatever the Maker’s plan, you and I are at the heart of it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“Speaking of which, we have a few things to discuss.”

***

For the third time, and not the last, Renley found herself in the dimly lit dungeons of Haven’s Chantry with Leliana. They had found an old office complete with dusty old books, boxes of broken equipment and to Renley’s delight, a bottle of whiskey, or the Thedas equivalent, cork still sealed with wax. Renley popped the cork and poured the brown liquid into a dusty glass. It smelled like whiskey, looked like whiskey... Renley took a sip.

“Huh, what’d you know?” she looked at Leliana, “Want a glass?”

Leliana wrinkled her nose, “No.”

“Right, so...” she took another sip of her drink and leaned against the desk, “We have a lot to work out. First things first, you haven’t told anyone, right?”

“And be taken for a raving lunatic?”

“Right," Renley smiled into her glass, "Now that the Inquisition is a thing, we have to choose between the Templars and the mages-”

“Choose?” 

“We can’t have them both, unfortunately.”

“They will refuse to work together?”

“Not exactly,” Renley sipped her drink, “It’s more of a time problem. You see, by the time we’ve finished recruiting one, Corypheus will-”

“Corypheus?”

“He's an old Tevinter mage who once led an assault on the Golden City or... something like that. He’s the big bad evil guy and he’s responsible for the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? You could have told Cassandra and I and we could have-”

“Could have what? It’s not like I know where he is. I only know where he’ll be at specific moments in time and that’s only if, _if_ we stick to the story.”

Frustration darkened the Spymasters features.

Renley continued, “It wouldn’t have changed what happened.”

Leliana closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I know. Continue.”

“Corypheus has been planning this for a long time. The mages and the Templars are already corrupted. We only have time to save one.”

“And who will we choose?”

“It depends," Renley shrugged, "I’m partial to the mages. I think they need us more than the Templars.”

Leliana nodded, “So the Templars fall to Corypheus, and the mages help us close the Breach.”

“And that’s when we make our first deviation,” Renley finished her whiskey and poured another glass. She recounted the events of the Siege of Haven as best she could.

Leliana stood frozen, starring at a spot on the wall with unseeing eyes.

 _Perhaps I made her glitch?_ She stepped forward examining Leliana’s expression. _Well now I’ve done it, I’ve broken her._

Leliana tore her gaze from the wall and grabbed the bottle of liquor, pouring herself a glass, “Does Corypheus die in the avalanche?”

“No, his dragon carries him away.”

“Do _you_ die in the avalanche?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to... in the story I just sort of, jump down a hole and find my way back to you guys.”

Leliana sipped her drink, “And in the battle... how many die?”

“I don’t know an exact number... enough to hurt. But if what I have in mind works out alright, significantly less will die.”

Renley resumed leaning on the desk, “You have a scout, Lace Harding.”

“I do...”

“We need her. We bring Harding in, tell her what we know, to an extent-”

“You’ve been so adamant about keeping this quiet.”

“We can rely on her. She’s your best agent, and a good person. There are a few people here I would trust with my life, but even less that I would trust with a secret. I would trust Harding with both.”

“Very well,” Leliana finished her whiskey, “When Scout Harding returns from the Hinterlands, we will have a meeting. Until then,” she set her glass on the desk, “you’d better get upstairs to Josephine. You two have a lot to discuss.”


	6. Scout Lace Harding

Renley made her way up from the dungeon keeping an eye out for anyone who looked a little too curious. But the Chantry was empty. She turned left and made her way to Josephine’s office. She stood at the door for a while, insides squirming. She had romanced Josephine in two of her playthroughs and that made her feel more than a little uncomfortable in this moment. Romancing someone in the game was fine, but in real life...

Taking a deep calming breath, Renley opened the door and the scene was set. Josephine was embroiled in an argument with a man wearing a yellow mask and a coat with a comically large collar.

“The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders.”

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day.”

Renley approached the pair, making herself known.

“But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach,” Josephine walked to Renley’s side.

“Mistress Antonov,” Josephine announced.

Renley stiffened. What did she just say?

“This is the Marquis DuRellion, one of the Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven," the Marquis proclaimed indignantly, "House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This ‘Inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

Renley, still reeling over being introduced as Mistress Antonov, choked out her reply, “You want Divine Justinia’s word? How about the word of her Left and Right Hands instead?”

“I’ve seen no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition.”

Josephine looked at Renley with a grave expression, “If he won’t take her at her word, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast must challenge him to a duel.”

“What?” squawked the Marquis. Renley stifled a laugh with a mild coughing fit.

Josephine patted Renley’s back, playing along with the coughing bit, “It is a matter of honor among the Nevarrans. Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?”

“No! No. Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was somewhat hasty.”

“We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us," the Ambassador squeezed Renley's shoulder, her voice full of conviction, "She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.” The Marquis exited the chamber, defeated.

Renley chuckled, “I’m sorry to intrude. I didn’t realize you had company.”

“You did little harm," the Ambassador released her shoulders, "In truth, the debate was most beneficial as practice for those to come.”

“People keep telling me that you and I have a lot to discuss.”

“Indeed, we do,” she walked to her desk and sat down, motioning to Renley to do the same, “Tell me, do you really remember nothing? Of where you come from? Who you are?”

“I don’t.”

Josephine sighed, “That does complicate things. Leliana and I have decided it will be best to give you an identity. If we leave too many holes, people will fill them.”

“So... Renley Antonov?”

“You like it, no? I couldn’t trace this name to any family of nobility in either Orlais or Ferelden. It has a sort of, far north ring to it.”

Renley stared at Josephine for a moment, “Could you write that down for me?”

Josephine scribbled the name on a spare piece of parchment and handed it to Renley. Antonov... Renley chuckled and shook her head. She folded the parchment and slipped it into her pocket.

“Since you remember nothing, you have a lot to learn. You have been deemed the Herald of Andraste, and as such have become the face of the Inquisition. Many people will want to meet you. The more you understand about these people, their customs, their social expectations, the more likely you’ll be to gain their favor.”

“Can’t I just threaten them with Cassandra?”

Josephine smiled, “Only as a last resort.”

“Then I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s decided. We will meet here every afternoon. We’ll have you ready for Orlesian high society before you know it.”

Renley pursed her lips, “Can’t wait.”

***

And so Renley had a routine. At dawn she trained with Cassandra, often until midday. Then after a hasty meal, typically of bread and whatever stew the soldiers had cooked up, it was off to the Chantry to stuff her head full of social norms observed by nobility.

She took her dinner at the tavern with Varric. Sometimes she would stick around and unwind over drinks and a game of Wicked Grace. But most nights she couldn’t get to her bed soon enough, and if it weren’t for the grueling training sessions every morning with Cassandra that left her muscles sore and her appetite large, she might’ve skipped dinner altogether.

She had spent two weeks with this routine, and she was starting to get antsy. If she never went to the Hinterlands, never stepped outside of Haven, would the story continue? Or could she hold things in limbo with procrastination? Most likely not, she concluded. Corypheus was out there, corrupting the Templars and mages and she was here, walking the same path from valley to Chantry.

But this time would prove different from the others.

“Herald,” Leliana called to her as she passed the Spymaster’s tent. Renley abandon her path. As she entered the tent, she saw not just the Spymaster, but another familiar face as well.

“Scout Lace Harding,” Renley beamed, “You’re back.”

Harding cleared her throat, “Herald... I was expecting to greet you in the field. But Sister Leliana insisted I come back to Haven.”

“We have matters of great importance to discuss,” said Leliana.

“Oh, okay,” Harding seemed guarded, “My apologies, Herald but... have we met before? I just don’t remember us being properly introduced.”

Renley exchanged a look with Leliana.

“My name is Renley...” she paused wondering if she could declare her new last name with a straight face, “Antonov...” Renley pinched the bridge of her nose and chuckled. She turned on Leliana, “Did you have anything to do with this? You guys couldn’t have given me a cooler surname?”

“Not here...” Leliana glanced at their surroundings, “We can meet later in the dungeons. After your lessons with Josephine.”

“Actually... it might start to look weird if the three of us keep going in and out of the dungeons.”

“And why should it? We have every right to be there.”

Harding stood between the two scheming women, becoming more confused with every word.

“People might start eavesdropping.”

The Spymasters eyes flashed, “If they do, they’ll regret it.”

"Leliana," she smiled nervously as a chill rolled through her shoulders, "What are you going to do to the eavesdroppers?”

“That’s none of your concern-”

Renley made to reply but was interrupted by a small, “Ahem.”

The bickering women looked down at Harding, “If I may... I know of a place. It’s just far enough from the village to be secluded, but not so far that we’d be missed.”

***

Renley left Josephine’s office after four grueling hours of study. Their Ambassador was nothing if not thorough and took her duties very seriously. But in truth, Renley was likely just as responsible for the atmosphere of these lessons. The knowledge of Josephine’s romance was always in the back of her head when they were together, and Renley found this creepy. Perhaps the stiffness of her demeanor was an overcompensation for this feeling.

It was another cold, winters day in Haven. The light of the setting sun cast beautiful colors in the village. A light breeze replaced the roaring winds that typically terrorized Havens people. And they took advantage of it. Adults took their evening drinks around the fire while their children ran freely throughout the village.

Renley set her feet in the direction of the Valley. She was to meet Leliana and Scout Harding in a small hut just outside the village. She remembered it as the hut the apothecary sent you to as one of the first side quest you encounter in the game. Or, now that she thought of it, she hoped it was the same. As she neared the gates of Haven a familiar voice called to her.

“Hey, Handy!”

Renley approached her companion, “I’m not sure about that name, Varric.”

“Hm... maybe you’re right. How about Lucky?”

“Perfect, I love it.”

“Alright, Lucky. How about a game of Wicked Grace at the tavern?”

“Sounds great, but I have some things to do first,” Renley started for the gates.

“Aw, more important than a drink with your favorite dwarf?”

“I’ll see you in an hour or two!” Renley called back.

Renley turned right past the gates. Luckily Cassandra was done training for the day, and was nowhere to be found. Cullen had his hands full with his soldiers, and was too busy yelling at one in particular to notice her slip by and into the woods. All that was left was to follow the path.

The hut was quaint, set against a backdrop of wintry forest, snow blanketing its roof. With one last look at her surroundings, she entered.

“There you are,” Leliana leaned against a desk in the corner of the hut.

Scout Harding stepped forward, “It’s good to see you.”

“Does she know anything yet?” Renley asked Leliana.

“No.”

Renley walked to the nearest window and peaked through the curtains, “So, Scout Harding. I’m sorry for being so secretive. But first things first. No one can know what we are about to discuss. Absolutely no one but you, me and Leliana. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Renley continued to explain, as best she could her situation.

“So,” began Harding, “You fell into this world from the fade.”

“Correct,” replied Renley.

“And in your world, our world is a story. And that’s how you know what’s going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“Well, this just gets weirder and weirder.”

Leliana crossed her arms, “Just you wait.”

They went on to explain the siege of Haven, how the village would be destroyed, their resources depleted, and a lot of their people lost.

As their tale came to an end, Renley added, “I think we can prevent this, not the loss of Haven but perhaps we can save its people. I propose the following: The day we close the Breach, Leliana sends you out on an errand or what have you. You stay out of sight, but somewhere with a clear view of the Breach. As soon as you see it close, you run to Haven. Sound the alarm, warn of an army marching toward the village. Leliana will help facilitate the decision to evacuate. We evacuate as many people as we can from Haven through the tunnels in the Chantry.”

“What happens next?” asked Harding.

“You help lead our people north, where Leliana will order scouts to keep a camp.”

“And Corypheus arrives to an empty Haven?”

“Not exactly. The soldiers will be the last to evacuate. And I’ll still meet him," nerves erupted in her stomach at the statement, "While trying to fire the final trebuchet.”

Harding exhaled, “Okay.”

“So...?” Leliana eyed her.

“I know what I have to do.”

Renley grinned, “Scout Harding, our greatest asset.”


	7. A Gift

It had been two and a half weeks since Renley had woken up in the fade. After that first day, her time had largely consisted of training with Cassandra, lessons with Josephine, and scheming with Leliana. But with Scout Harding’s return from the Hinterlands, it was time for the Inquisitions first official expedition. Renley’s insides churned just thinking about it.

Cassandra assured her that she was ready from a tactical standpoint. “And if it helps,” she had said, “I’ll be fighting by your side.” And it did. Renley kept reminding herself she had three very capable companions. And speaking of her companions... there was one final thing Renley wished to accomplish before they ventured forth.

“Solas,” Renley approached the elven mage who was gazing at the Breach that still plagued the sky.

“The Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Renley couldn’t contain the noise that escaped her throat. She smiled and made her reply, “That sounded awfully sarcastic, Solas.”

“Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Renley was screaming internally. This guy, this fucking demi-god could turn people to stone with his eyes but would spend the next few months watching them struggle with a problem he created.

“The kind who values the help of her closest companions,” she continued, attempting to sound as natural as possible, “As you know, we’re departing for the Hinterlands tomorrow. I commissioned Havens blacksmith to make some armor for you. You can pick it up anytime. He’ll be expecting you.”

“I-” Solas seemed thrown off, “That is very kind of you. I give you my thanks, Herald.”

“I’d best get going. Lots of preparations to make for our upcoming journey,” Renley turned on her heel and marched away with renewed excitement for the journey ahead.

***

Renley awoke the following morning with a stomach full of birds. She got dressed and stuck to her routine by heading out into the valley. She knew there’d be no training that day, but maintaining a routine brought her comfort.

The sun hadn’t risen yet and neither had the soldiers. It was cold and quiet, and as she admired the silhouette of the Frostback mountain range...

“Trouble sleeping?”

She turned to see Cassandra walking her way with that swaggering gait of hers.

Renley leaned an arm on the nearest straw dummy, “Me? Never... but I could ask you the same question.”

“I'm an early riser. Always have been.”

"I never waste a moment to sleep," she straightened up and kicked weakly at the dummy, "I could probably sleep through a house fire.”

“I’ve noticed. I’ve spent the majority of the past few weeks waiting for you to wake up.”

Renley laughed, “Part of that is the fades fault, not mine.”

“Undoubtedly,” Cassandra turned away from the valley and drew two training swords from the weapons barrel. She tossed one to Renley, “One last duel before we depart.”

Renley caught her sword and made ready, “Loser has to ask Chancellor Roderick to drinks.”

Cassandra smirked, and with an evil look in her eye, lunged at Renley.

And so, they sparred. Each ring of their swords disrupting the peaceful silence of the early morning. The sun began to rise over the mountains casting the valley into deep shadows and vibrant colors. Cassandra held nothing back, but Renley held her own.

They locked swords. In this closeness Renley could see beads of sweat forming on Cassandras forehead, a slight tremor in her upper lip. This was her chance.

She hooked the handle of her sword around the blade of Cassandra’s and pushed up from the pommel, twisting it from her grasp. Taking advantage of the momentum, Renley swept her opponents feet from beneath her and down she went.

Renley reveled in her victory, the light of the morning sun gleaming in her blade, “I did it,” she laughed, “I actually beat Cassandra Pent--”

She grunted as she hit the ground.

“And now,” Cassandra was breathing heavily, still lying supine on the frosty earth, “we are even.”

Renley groaned and grabbed her ribs, “I think you collapsed a lung.”

“Good. Perhaps when you are fighting in the field, you will feel your collapsed lung and remember to never let your guard down.”

Renley scoffed, “Well you still have to ask out Chancellor Roderick.”

“I most certainly will not.”

“Fine, you can duel him instead.”

Cassandra paused, “Now that, I may do.”

“You know Josephine threatens to have you duel people when she thinks she’s losing an argument?”

Cassandra laughed. Renley looked at her. It was this first time she’d heard her laugh. After a moment, Cassandra sat up, “Follow me, I have something for you.”

They made their way to the forge where the blacksmith was just getting started for the day, “Ah, Cassandra. I’ve had a busy time with you lot. Can’t say I’m sorry for it though. It’s good business. I’ve what you asked for right ‘ere.” He handed Cassandra what looked to be a roll of blankets then turned to Renley, “And that elf mage of yours picked his up last night.”

Renley grinned, “Thanks, Harrit.”

Harrit waved his hand and returned to his forge.

“You had something made for Solas?” Cassandra questioned.

“Armor. Can’t have our healer running around in rags.”

Cassandra positioned herself in front Renley. She peeled back the bundle to reveal a shortsword and parrying dagger, complete with belt and sheath, “And we can’t have the Herald running around with a rusty blade.”

Renley was moved, to say the least. She looked at Cassandra.

“It is Nevarran tradition for an instructor to gift their apprentice their first sword,” she presented Renley the shortsword.

The sound of steel against leather was better than any bard song to Renley's ears. She rotated the blade, mesmerized by the way it held the light from the forges fire.

“I’ll teach you to maintain it. Its quality is very good for a village forge-” Harrit shot a dirty look in their direction, “-if you treat it well, it will be with you for many battles to come.”

Cassandra showed her how to wear it. The short sword rested diagonally on her back, so she could draw it with her right hand. The dagger rested on her right hip and was meant to be cross drawn from her left. They spent a while adjusting the angles as Renley practiced drawing them.

“How do they feel?” asked Cassandra.

Renley twirled the dagger, fingers itching to put it to proper use, “They’re perfect.”

“Come then," the Seeker eyed her with amusement, "We have a long day ahead.”

***

Three companions stood ready to depart at Havens gates.

“Anyone seen Giggles?”

“I am here.”

They turned in unison to see Solas strolling toward them, staff on his back, rucksack slung across his shoulder and...

Varric doubled over in an apparent coughing fit. Renley kicked his boot and addressed Solas, “We have a horse for you, when you’re ready.”

The companions saddled up and set off to the east. Varric sidled over to Renley, tears in his eyes and whispered, “Are you responsible for this?”

Renley looked at Solas’ retreating figure and allowed herself a small smile, “I think he looks dashing.”

The two collapsed into a fit of silent giggles. Renley wiped her eyes and admired her companion's new armor. He would be hard to miss, wearing all that plaid weave. It may even make him a target but, she wasn’t too worried. He was more than capable of taking care of himself and besides... she had just wanted to see him wear the plaid weave of shame one time. She’d have better armor made for him. Eventually...


	8. Business in Val Royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains brief descriptions of violence and gore. As well as a breach in the space time continuum. Beware the courier. They are not of this world.

The Hinterlands was a welcome change of pace for the companions. Haven had seen weeks of snowfall ushered in on freezing gusts of wind. But the land thawed as they ventured east, and bloomed into an idyllic village atmosphere. 

Emerald valleys with wooden pickets touched tree lines of evergreen and maple. The scent of pine and freshly tilled earth sweetened the air. Huts trimmed the scenery, their roofs thatched with grass, their walkways lined with cobblestone. 

But as they neared their point of interest, the charming illusion faded, revealing a land marred by battle. The fighting culminated at the crossroads. Ash darkening blue skies over fields stained red by the casualties of war. 

“Inquisition forces!” Cassandra called to the companions as they reached the fighting, “They’re trying to help the refugees!” 

They hurried toward the battle, drawing the attention of a nearby Templar. 

“Reinforcements!” he called. He and two others rushed the party. 

“Hold! We are not apostates!” Cassandra tried to reason, but on they came. 

“I do not think they care, Seeker.” Solas pulled the staff from his back with a flourish. He struck the earth with its hilt, conjuring a flickering orange circle between them. 

The first Templar was unlucky enough to trigger the rune. He burst into flames and crumpled to the ground in agony. Varric halted the second's advance with a deftly aimed bolt from Bianaca. One remained, his eyes were trained on Renley. 

He swung his sword with the surety of a headsman. His blade slicing down through the air, seeking flesh. In the time it took for the man to strike, she could see his course was fixed. The Templar believed in every fiber of his being that his blade would meet its mark. It was a belief that would prove fatal. 

A simple step to the left, and Renley was clear of the weapon's path. Her own blade grazed his side as she moved, drawing a thin red line across his ribs. The Templar’s sword struck dirt, making a failure of the headsman. 

Missing his target left him vulnerable. Bent at the waist from putting all his strength into the blow, he had placed himself on the chopping block. His executioner brought her sword down without hesitation. Renley watched as the head, severed by her own blade, fell at her feet. 

Time seemed to slow as she watched the blood pool around the Templar's body. The tips of her fingers felt numb. A queasy feeling stirred her stomach. She looked to Cassandra, a nervous student seeking reassurance. The Seeker motioned breathing. 

A sharp intake of air was what Renley managed. With the return of air to her lungs, the battle was brought back into focus. They were being ambushed by apostates. The clearing erupted with fire and electricity. 

“We are not Templars!” cried Solas, “We mean you no harm!” 

“Doesn’t look like they’re listening,” replied Varric. 

Green tinted Renley’s vision as the mages attacked. She ignored it, thinking it a side effect of the mark. The mages proved a tricky opponent. One could barely take a step without a ball of flame or a bolt of lightning whizzing past their ear. 

As she swung her sword into the abdomen of an apostate, a strange buzzing sensation enveloped her. When it subsided, the green in her vision was gone. She turned in time to see Solas wave his staff toward her, and the world was green once more. 

Emboldened by her arcane armor, Renley braved the battlefield. It was a blur of steel and electricity. Blood and fire. The fight was over when the last of the mages turned tail and fled for the woods. 

With the crossroads clear, they were free to pursue Mother Giselle. Renley took a moment to collect herself. Her skin was smeared with filth. Muscles burning from exertion. Eyes stinging with sweat. 

Cassandra came to her side. They stood in silence for a moment, looking over the carnage. Renley’s eyes strayed back to the beheaded Templar. Her expression tightened. 

“Taking a life is never easy,” the Seeker's words were deliberate, delivered like a proverb handed down through the ages, “But when faced with a cause greater than ourselves, we must make difficult decisions.” 

Renley released her air, not realizing she’d been holding it. A gloved hand grasped her shoulder. Cassandra caught her gaze, “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” each breath eased the hold on her chest, “I didn’t know you could... do that. In that way.” 

The Seeker shrugged, “Now you know.” 

A grin split Renley’s face, “ _Now I know?_ ” 

“Yes,” Cassandra furrowed her brow, “Now you know.” 

Her response, absurdly simplistic, tore an exasperated chuckle from Renley, “Well. Now that I know... I think it’s time we found Mother Giselle.” 

*** 

Just beyond the crossroads lay a village overwhelmed. Resources straining from the burdens of battle. Even space was a commodity. Every available surface hosted wounded parties, soldiers and civilians alike. 

Navigating the chaos was nearly as bad as traversing the battlefield. The party split, and Renley found herself weaving through Chantry Mothers and tripping over bodies. Just as she’d earned the ire of a rather large individual by bumping into his pail of water resulting in it sloshing down his trousers, her eyes fell on Giselle. 

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” she heard the Mother’s melodic phrasing, the cadence of her voice peaceful even in the midst such grim circumstances, “Lie still.” 

Renley ducked around the water logged brute and made her way to Giselle. She watched the interaction unfold from a small distance. 

“Don’t... let them touch me, Mother,” an Inquisition soldier squirmed in pain, “Their magic...” 

“Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.” 

“But...” the soldier grimaced, his hand snapping to his leg. Hardly noticeable, hidden under torn cloth caked in layers of old blood, a bone protruded from the middle of the man's thigh. 

“Hush, dear boy,” Giselle placed her hand on his chest, “Allow them to ease your suffering.” 

“Is there nothing we can do for pain?” Renley made her presence known. 

“Our resources are strained,” Mother Giselle kept her eyes on her work, “Unfortunately, we will have to do without.” 

The burly man from before brushed past Renley holding a fresh bucket of water and a long, flat piece of wood. He settled in at the man’s foot, sleeves rolled past well-toned forearms, and began tearing linen cloth into thin strips. 

“Hold his shoulders,” the man grumbled at Renley. 

She obliged, placing her weight on the man's chest as Giselle signaled to a staff wielding woman loitering nearby. 

“Please,” the soldier croaked, eyes widening with panic. 

“Proceed, Galian,” Giselle nodded to the man at the soldier's foot. 

Renley strengthened her hold as Galian positioned the board along the injured leg. He secured it to the thigh with a strip of linen, then grasped the ankle with both hands. 

“Mother, please-” 

“Bite down,” Giselle placed a belt of leather between his teeth. 

Strangled cries rent the air as Galian pulled on the man's leg. The bone slipped back into the skin and Giselle set to work, fixing leg to board at the joints. The soldier went slack under Renley’s arms. She released him and the mage knelt by the soldiers side, her hands glowing white on his wounds. 

“Come,” a light touch met the area between Renley's shoulders, “Walk with me.” 

She allowed Mother Giselle to steer her through rows of the sick and wounded. 

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement,” began Giselle, “and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us...” 

They stopped beneath the shade of a small oak tree, the ground beneath it a thick blanket of fallen leaves, “I can’t really blame them.” 

“Oh?” the Chantry Mother folded her hands, lines of wisdom crinkling the corners of her eyes. 

“Yeah, well,” Renley chuckled, “Look who they sent to speak with you.” 

“The Herald of Andraste.” 

“Or...” she eyed Giselle in amusement, “An individual who can't remember if the tattoo on their shoulder is supposed to be clouds or waves?” 

Mother Giselle creased her gaze, “And why should that matter?” 

The question gave Renley pause, “Now that you mention it... I don’t know. Still bothers me though-” 

“Go to them. Convince the remaining Clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightening tales of you. Give them something else to believe-” 

“Dazzle them with my prowess of persuasion?” 

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us... but I hope,” the Mother’s voice, thick with conviction, moved Renley to silence, “Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us... or destroy us.” 

Her expression softened as she continued, “I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry that would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do what I can.” 

Renley was suddenly very aware of how squalid her own appearance was, contrasted with the Mother’s pristine Chantry robes, “Thank you. You’ve given us a lead to follow. One we were sorely in need of.” 

“Go now,” Giselle dismissed her, “And help return us to the path of light.” 

*** 

Renley was happy to see the result of the Inquisitions efforts in the Hinterlands. Each rift sealed, camp established, and agent recruited made a noticeable difference. Where they ventured, peace followed. 

On the eve of their return to Haven, the companions sat around the fire, having drinks and debriefing. Cassandra turned in first, as was her standard, and when Varric stumbled into the woods to relieve himself, Renley found herself alone at the fire with Solas. 

“I have something for you,” she produced a neatly folded bundle of robes. Solas held them up in the light of the fire, examining them. 

“The plaid weave didn’t suit you,” Renley explained, “I know you don’t really care about that sort of thing but...” 

“Thank you, Herald,” Solas folded the robes and arranged them neatly on his lap, “I’ve been watching you these past weeks. It seems as though you care for Ferelden’s people.” 

“Is that not normal?” she creased her cheek at the mage. 

“Perhaps not. I mostly refer to your handling of the commoners. Elves included.” 

“But they’re all commoners here,” a notch formed in Renley’s brow, “Aren’t they?” 

“Most nobility wouldn’t glance at those beneath them. Unless, of course, it suited their needs.” 

“I’m-” _not nobility._ But she was playing at it. Right? Mistress Antonov of Starkhaven was the title bestowed on her by Josephine and Leliana. 

“Your deeds have not gone unnoticed,” Solas gazed at the dying embers of their modest campfire, “The eyes of Thedas are upon you, Herald. Remember that.” 

Varric returned at that moment, breaking the tension, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat.” 

Renley rose, “Me too, think I’ll get some sleep,” she ducked into her tent, leaving Solas by the fire. 

Slipping out of her clothes and into her bed roll, she turned over to face Cassandra. It was a while before she could sleep. Her brain it seemed, kept trying to recall something. She thought of the wounded at the crossroads, of the Templar’s blood pooling at her boots. 

Focusing on matching her breathing with the gentle rise and fall of her tent mate's silhouette, she was finally able to close her eyes, Cassandra’s words the last thing she thought of before falling into a dreamless sleep... 

_When faced with a cause greater than ourselves, we must make difficult decisions._

*** 

Renley found herself once more in the company of the war council. They stood around the map, debating. 

“Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea,” suggested Josephine. 

Cullen voiced his indignation, “You _can’t_ be serious.” 

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” she continued, unperturbed, “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” 

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” questioned Leliana. 

The shadow of smile played on Renley’s lips. Thinking that their Spymaster cared for her safety was a compelling thought indeed. 

“Let's ask her,” Josephine turned to the Herald, breaking her reverie. 

“It’s necessary,” Renley touched eyes with Leliana, “We won’t earn any friends without taking a risk or two.” 

“I will go with her,” Cassandra stepped forward, “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.” 

“But why?” began Cullen, “This is nothing but a-” 

“What choice do we have?” the Seeker’s voice held a ring of finality, “Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.” 

*** 

The party left Haven the following morning having only been there long enough for a hot meal and a night's rest. One week later they stood before the famed Sun Gates, only one of them able to guess at what lie in wait. 

Val Royeaux was a sprawling expanse of golden spires and white latticework. Creeping vines of morning glory wound around stone pillars and iron gates. Marble statues lined footpaths with intricate tile inlays. 

Everything had its place in the capital of Orlais. From the Grand Cathedral, to the University, to the residents deemed ‘Royans’. The city was immaculate to the finest detail. 

The companions marched into the city drawing curious stares and in one instance, a terrified shriek. Renley huffed in amusement. 

Varric nudged her elbow and winked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they know who we are.” 

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” drawled Cassandra. 

Renley chortled. The walkway opened into the main square. Crowds of Royans gathered under yards of red fabric that crowned the square. Their attentions turned to a wooden stage where Mothers of the Chantry addressed the masses. 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste!” the crowd gasped and parted for Renley and her companions giving them a wide berth, “Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!” 

Renley addressed the Mothers, “I come in peace,” she continued, pushing away the visions of invading Martians her mind had conjured at the stupid phrase, “I simply wish to speak with the Mothers of the Chantry.” 

“It’s true!” called Cassandra, “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it's too late!” 

“It is already too late!” the speakers voice was ripe with emotion, “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!” 

A group of Templars walked on stage at her declaration, one of their number punching the Chantry Mother in the face. 

“Still yourself,” began the ugliest Templar, “She is beneath us.” 

A younger Templar hesitated, looking with uncertainty at the Mother who was now whimpering on the ground at their feet. He seemed conflicted to say the least, perhaps even frightened. 

“Lord Seeker,” Renley folded her arms, “What’s got you punching Chantry Mothers on this fine day?” 

“Her claim to authority is an insult,” he spat at them, “Much like your own.” 

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” began Cassandra, “It’s imperative that we speak with-” 

“You will not address me,” Lucius left the stage, his lackeys at his heel. 

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra faltered at his words. 

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed,” Lucius eyed the fleeing crowd, “You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!” he cut his gaze back to the companions, “If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.” 

“Templars!” he called to his men as he marched past, “Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” 

Templars filed past in single file until one caught Renley’s eye. The frightened one. She grabbed his arm and leaned in close, “When you get tired of following a lunatic, Ser Barris, come find me.” 

Apprehension flickered in his eyes as he jerked his arm from her grasp. He followed his comrades into the crowd of dispersing Royans. 

“Charming fellows, aren’t they?” quipped Varric. 

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” concern carved Cassandra’s features. 

“Or he’s been corrupted,” mused Renley. 

The Seeker threw a sharp look her way, “Corrupted by what?” 

Renley raised an eyebrow, “By whoever started this mess in the first place.” 

Cassandra sighed in response, eyeing the crowd with weariness, “We should return to Haven and inform the others.” 

A courier barred their path, as they made to leave, “I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver- your hands only.” 

Renley accepted the parchment and read the message aloud to the others, “You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the Chateaux of Duke Bastien De Ghislain. Yours, Vivienne De Fer. First Enchanter of Montsimmard. Enchanter to the Imperial Court.” 

“A salon, huh?” Varric nodded to Cassandra, “Did you pack your ball gown, Seeker?” 

If looks could kill, they’d all be in trouble.

Renley smiled, “Ball gown or not... I have a feeling if we pass on this invitation, we’ll have the wrath of our Ambassador to contend with.” 

One last surprise was in store for the companions. As they passed the fountain, an arrow landed among them startling the other three. Renley grinned. Her Red Jenny companion was right on cue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was deleted because it was pointless to the story.

The next chapter awaits.


	10. Healing Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you can find the two Witcher easter eggs.

Renley fell to her knee and took a deep, steadying breath. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, muscles aching, lungs screaming. Her dagger lay on the ground several feet away. Gripping her short sword tighter, she lunged forward. Swords collided with a ring that rent the air. The ring traveled up her sword and into her hands. Again, and again she charged her opponent. How long had this bout gone on?

The Inquisitions troops gathered to watch, drawn by the clamor of clashing swords and cries of frustration. Renley locked swords, thinking perhaps she could draw her opponent into a grapple. Close combat was a strength of hers, but Cassandra knew that. She used Renley’s momentum against her, knocking her aside with little effort. Renley rolled and popped right back up, circling Cassandra. All was silent but the sound of their breathing. Every step was calculated, every twitch taken note of. It was Cassandra’s steely glare against the fire in Renley’s eyes.

At this point even Cullen had paused to watch the pair, so long had the duel gone on. Renley lunged once more and Cassandra parried, knocking her sword aside and bringing her own to rest at the base of Renley’s neck. The soldiers gave a small cheer to the victor as Cullen shouted them down, “Alright you lot, back to work! Those demons aren’t going to fight themselves!”

Cassandra sheathed her sword and Renley sank to the ground. Cassandra handed her a water skin crouching down beside her.

“Let’s end training early today.”

Renley looked at her, brow furrowed.

“It’s been a busy few weeks,” she stood and extended a hand to Renley, “Our bodies could use a break.”

***

Cassandra led her back into Haven and around the outskirts of the village. Beyond the Chantry lay an earthen path. They made their way along a steady incline, the terrain changing from sparse forest to scattered boulders until finally they arrived at the mouth of a large cave.

“These baths are known throughout Ferelden and Orlais,” Cassandra explained as they entered the rocky corridor, “Some make pilgrimages to bathe in them, as they believe Andraste did in her time.”

Renley inhaled sharply as they reached the end of the corridor. The cave opened up into a cavern, it’s walls illuminated with small beams of sunlight that peaked through from somewhere above. Before them, in stark contrast to the rough surface of the cavern's walls, lay a smooth blue pool of steaming water. Renley’s senses came to life as she took in her surroundings. The echo of their footsteps, the earthen smell, the colors reflected by the sunlight, all came together to envelop her with a sense of ease...

Cassandra began removing her armor so Renley followed suit. Soon they stood naked before the water. Cassandra stepped into the pool and Renley followed. They sat in silence, the only sound an occasional trickle of water.

Renley exhaled, she felt as though she were melting...and what a weird thought to have. How long had it been since she’d been submerged in a body of water? Or even since she’d felt this warm? She’d gotten so used to the cold...

She awoke to a hand on her shoulder, “Time to go.”

Her eyes felt heavy as she blinked them open. Cassandra straightened up and finished donning the remainder of her armor.

“How long was I out for?” asked Renley as she exited the pool. The cold air was exhilarating against her skin.

“I’d say around a half hour,” Cassandra handed Renley her clothes.

She began pulling them on slowly, reluctant to leave the comfort of the water.

“How are you feeling,” asked Cassandra.

Renley pulled her shirt on and swept her hair back from her eyes. Her eyes...they felt very heavy, almost like... “I feel like my body defrosted.”

Cassandra laughed, “These waters have healing properties, but if you aren’t used to them, they can make you feel strange.”

Renley looked around the cavern. The steam rolling from the water reflected fragmented colors in the light. She looked back at Cassandra, her vision taking a moment to catch up with her eyes, “How strange?”

***

Not even a half hour later, Renley found herself in Josephine’s office for her afternoon lessons. She absent-mindedly thumbed at her dagger, pushing it in and out of its sheath with a satisfying ‘click’.

“Herald?”

Renley, feeling as though she had melted into the chair, peeled her eyes away from a spot of wall behind Josephines desk with great difficulty.

“Are you listening?”

Click, click, “I... lost focus for a moment, my apologies,” Renley grinned stupidly.

Josephine sighed, “Por que estoy aqui?”

“Because... I am here?”

Josephine stared at her, lips parted and eyes wide, “What?”

“You said...because I am here?”

“Hablas Antivan?”

Renley looked off to the side, then down at her lap. Though in a heavily altered state, she somehow felt that she shouldn’t be divulging this information to Josephine. But perhaps more pressing than this divulgence was...why the fuck did she know Antivan?

“No,” she replied.

Josephine hopped out of her chair and came around her desk, placing her hands on the arms of Renley’s chair. She tried to look innocent but failed miserably.

“Mentirosa!” Josephine declared.

Renley rose from her seat, “I’m getting hungry, I wonder what--”

Josephine impeded her escape, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, “You should have told me that you speak Antivan.”

Renley grabbed Josephine’s wrist and looked her in the eye, “I don’t even know what Antiva is...wait, that’s not what I...” Renley started to laugh.

“What is going on with you?”

“I-” Renley paused. They were close...too close... She looked away from Josephine, feeling her face grow hot.

Josephine took a step back, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She cleared her throat as Renley walked to the door, “This could be an asset to us. It could mean your memory is returning. The Inquisition--”

“We can discuss this later,” Renley interrupted, and with one foot out of the door she bid her farewell, “Buenas.”

Josephine called after her, “We _will_ finish this conversation!”

***

Coming down from her high left Renley feeling quite hungry. And now that she thought about it, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She set her feet for the tavern the burdens of her mind feeling far, far away. That pool was good for one thing, thought Renley, I haven’t felt this at ease since I’ve been here.

The tavern was a bustle of hungry patrons, unwinding from a long day's work. And who better to find among them than her favorite storyteller?

“Hey, Lucky! How ‘bout a game of wicked grace?”

“Varric!” she sat down opposite him, goofy grin still in place.

Varric eyed her for a long moment, then laughed, “Did you get into the good stuff without inviting me?”

Renley chuckled and shook her head, “How about a story you won’t believe...”

A few drinks later Varric was wiping tears from his eyes, “I can’t believe Seeker did that to you. And poor Scribbles,” he shuffled a deck of cards before him.

“Deal me in,” Sera sat down at their table and grabbed Renley’s mug of ale, finishing it.

Varric and Renley exchanged a look. Varric shrugged and dealt three hands while Renley grabbed the bar maid's attention.

“Another round plus one for our new friend.”

Sera brought the mug down before her, “So, this is it huh?”

Renley snorted and gathered her cards, “Yeah, this is it.”

“Oh no, it’s fine yeah? It’s just... I thought it’d be bigger,” Sera chuckled, “That would have been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted...”

Varric and Renley collapsed in another fit of giggles, having lost their ability to take anything seriously after their fourth drink. The waitress set three more mugs on their table and they continued with their game of Wicked Grace. Soon they were all laughing like old friends, and the banters... Renley could listen to her companions interact for hours.

***

She awoke the following morning and headed to the training grounds as was her routine. Cassandra was there waiting.

“How was your night?” she asked.

Renley drew her training sword and faced Cassandra, “Perfectly uneventful.”

Cassandra smirked, “There is a saying, ‘The more your body needs to heal the stranger the waters make you feel’.”

Renley laughed and looked down at her mark, “Hmm... fuck.”


	11. A Chance Encounter

The time had come to make their move on the mages. Before leaving Val Royeaux, they’d been approached by enchantress Fiona. She asked them to meet her in Redcliffe in order to discuss an alliance. 

The war table, as usual, was divided on this matter. Cullen and Cassandra were partial to the Templars, and thought meeting Fiona a waste of time. But the Herald’s voice set their course in the end. 

Leliana held Renley back after the council. 

“There is one other matter,” the Spymaster eyed her from across the map of Thedas, “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared...” 

Renley had not yet mentioned the Grey Wardens to Leliana. Their relationship with information exchange was delicate. They’d decided that in order to have as little impact on future events as possible, Renley would come to her as necessary. This could be difficult to determine and left Renley in a constant state of indecisiveness. 

_But when faced with a cause greater than ourselves, we must make difficult decisions..._

Difficult, confusing, impossible... the life of Herald was a constant state of decision making. 

“Is there anything you’d like to expound on?” questioned Leliana. 

Something had been stirring in Renley’s thoughts for a while. The closer they came to meeting the mages in Redcliffe, the more it bothered her. She placed the tips of her fingers on the war table, sorting through the mess in her mind. 

“Nothing on the Grey Wardens yet, but...” she hesitated, deliberating on the repercussions of her words. 

Leliana strolled around the table, narrowing the space between them. 

“We are deviating from the story when it comes to the siege of Haven,” Renley’s eyes glazed over. She’d never been good with words beyond a witty remark now and then, “I don’t know if we can do that with future events,” she breathed deeply, “With so many depending on every choice...” her thoughts seized, like the gears of a clock grinding to a halt. 

“You aren’t alone with this,” Leliana lowered her hood as she spoke, “Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Candle light danced in her eyes as the shroud fell away, revealing shimmering pools of blue. 

“I’m just-” her pulse quickened under the Spymaster’s scrutiny “-a little overwhelmed. Going through every detail is cumbersome.” 

“Take a break,” Leliana folded her arms and leaned a hip against the table, “Skip your meeting with Josephine. Go to the tavern early.” 

Renley laughed and shook her head, “I forgot to tell you...” 

She briefly explained her previous encounter with Josephine. 

“So...” Leliana furrowed her brow, “you speak Antivan?” 

“Spanish. But I only know a little.” 

“It’s interesting to think of all the parallels you could draw between our worlds.” 

Renley smiled, “There are a few... like how Antiva and Spain share a language. I’m pretty sure Orlais is the same with France, another country from my world.” 

“And what of the Maker?” 

“Many refer to the Maker as God. It depends on where you’re from and what you believe. But Andraste is sort of like Jesus-” 

“Wait,” a corner of her mouth lifted, “When you say ‘Jesus Christ’ it’s the equivalent of using Andraste’s name as a swear word?” 

“Yes,” Renley grinned, “But maybe Andraste would be more like Mary. You can also swear by saying Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Or god-damn-it. That one can really put some people off-” 

Leliana stifled a laugh, “Those sound ridiculous-” 

“Just wait till you hear about-” 

The door to the war room opened, interrupting their moment. 

“Sister Nightengale,” the Inquisition agent saluted, “I’ve report for you.” 

Renley turned away from the pair, mind wandering to ale and Wicked Grace. 

“Herald,” Leliana called after her as she reached the threshold. She turned to see the Spymaster regarding her with those teasing blue eyes, “Let’s continue this conversation tomorrow.” 

She was being formal in front of her agent, but Renley was sure what she really meant was, _I want to hear that last swear word_. She smiled and left the war room. 

Her title was called again as she made her way into the main hall. This time by a different voice. 

“Herald,” Josephine lingered in her doorway. 

Flutters erupted in Renley’s stomach as she approached. Their previous encounter was painfully fresh in her mind. 

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” she continued. 

The statement took Renley off guard. She gave the other a puzzled look. 

“It’s no business of mine whether or not you choose to divulge any memories you recover,” she explained, “It’s not that it would have helped us much anyway. You clearly aren’t a native speaker-” 

“You don’t need to apologize. Last night was... weird. I-” 

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” a faint flush crept into the Ambassador’s cheeks. 

Thoroughly flustered, Renley reverted to her favorite coping mechanism, “You think that’s bad? I think Cassandra broke one of my ribs last week in training.” 

Josephine responded in kind, “Speaking of training. I believe I’ve told you all I can of Ferelden and Orlais. At least all that’s relevant.” 

“Oh, I see,” her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, “One bad lesson and you’re getting rid of me.” 

“If only it were that easy,” the Ambassador raised an eyebrow. Her brazen demeanor was quite agreeable. She left Renley at the door and withdrew to her desk, “We will continue as need arises.” 

Renley smirked at her retreating figure, “As you say.” 

*** 

Renley, Cassandra, Sera and Vivienne arrived in Redcliffe village the following week. The Hinterlands had been brought under control for the most part. The companions were able to ride peacefully through rolling hills and clear skies. 

Renley enjoyed the energy of Redcliffe immensely and found her thoughts wondering about other locations around Thedas. When her work was done with the Inquisition would she have the opportunity to explore these places? To meet their people? Without the air of impending doom? 

As they ventured further into the village, the air changed. Worried commoners huddled together, gossiping in hushed whispers. Robed mages eyed them wearily as they passed. 

“Why is everything so weird here?” asked Sera. 

“We should talk to the grand enchanter,” stated Cassandra. 

They made their way into the Gull & Lantern. It was a sizeable rustic establishment with poor lighting. Large oak barrels of ale shadowed a modest bar. A large bearskin dressed the far facing wall. Herbs hung from wooden beams, mingling the scent of hops with sage and lavender. 

“Welcome agents of the Inquisition," enchanter Fiona greeted them as they drew further into the tavern. She sliced her gaze across Renley’s companions, eyes lingering on their mage, “First enchanter Vivienne.” 

“My dear Fiona,” Viv’s voice rang with the farce of cordiality, “It’s been so long since we last spoke. You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?” 

“What has brought you to Redcliff?” continued Fiona coolly. 

“You did,” answered Renley, “When you invited us.” 

Fiona blinked at her. 

“In Val Royeaux?” she prompted, irked slightly by the blank stare boring into her. 

“You must be mistaken,” Fiona responded, “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the conclave.” 

“We are not mistaken,” Cassandra walked to Renley’s side, “It was you.” 

“Whoever...” Fiona looked between them, uncertainty creeping into her features, “Or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.” 

“An alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra towered over the elven mage, “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?” 

“Fiona dear, your dementia is showing,” drawled Vivienne. 

Renley looked down in effort to hide her mirth. Vivienne's audacity knew no bounds. 

Fiona continued, “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.” 

Having recovered from Viv’s savagery, Renley replied, “It's not too late to-” 

“Welcome my friends!” 

The group turned to see two men in pointed attire walking toward them. The older of the two continued, “I apologize for not greeting you earlier!” 

“Agents of the Inquisition,” began Fiona, “Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” 

“The southern mages are under my command,” Alexius approached Renley, studying her candidly, “And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the fade? Interesting.” 

Renley wrinkled her nose and took a step backward, “We're here to negotiate with the mages.” 

“Right to business! I understand of course.” 

They sat at a table and Alexius spun his tale. As he droned on, Renley’s eyes strayed. The one with whom Alexius had entered stumbled toward their table. 

She stood, recognizing her cue. The man fell into her. A slip of parchment crinkled in her palm as she struggled to support him. Alexius, overwhelmed with concern, cut their meeting short claiming they’d have to meet at a later time. 

Renley opened the note as they left the tavern, “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” 

“Well, aren’t we secret-y,” observed Sera. 

“Did the Magister’s son give you that?” questioned Cassandra, “Why would he help you?” 

“Be cautious, Herald,” warned Vivienne, “Family name is everything in Tevinter.” 

“Looks like we've found the source of weirdness," Renley gave her companions a once over, "Let's check it out." 

*** 

Demons greeted the companions as they entered the Chantry. And fighting these demons... 

“Good! You’re finally here. Now help me close this will you?” Dorian was devilishly handsome. Complete with a perfectly tailored mustache and witty remarks, he was the mage companion of her dreams. 

They fought the demons, with the added hurdle of time warps that would slow you to a crawl were you unlucky enough to step in one. Despite the initial complication, they made short work of it. Renley raised her mark to the rift and it snapped shut with a satisfying reverberation. 

“Fascinating,” Dorian’s eyes sparked with curiosity, “How does that work exactly?” 

“That’s highly classified information,” Renley smirked at the mage. 

Dorian threw his head back and laughed, “You don’t even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and _boom_. Rift closes.” 

She shrugged, “Simple as that.” 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. Dorian of house Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” 

A grin split Renley’s face. She was a willing victim of the Tevinter’s charm, “Very well, thanks.” 

“Let one Tevinter in,” warned Vivienne, “and suddenly they’re scurrying out of all the walls like roaches.” 

“Now, now. I’m ever so much more handsome than a cockroach,” quipped Dorian, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor. So, my assistance should be valuable as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

“You have our attention,” replied Renley. 

“Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels right out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself. 

“The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself. Sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable. And it’s unraveling the world.” 

“Sounds like a bad _time_ ,” Renley smiled. 

“I know what I’m-” Dorian paused, “Did you just make a _pun?_ About the very magic I’m telling you could end the world as we know it?” 

Renley waited. He would either appreciate it, or he would not. This was the point of no return. 

Dorian began to laugh, “Here I am... knee deep in demons and conspiracy... then you stroll in with your glowing hand and intimating friends... and start making _puns_?” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. 

Cassandra cleared her throat, calling them back to order, “You were saying” 

“Right... I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” 

“He didn’t do it for them,” the man who’d passed the message entered the Chantry. 

“Felix,” Dorian greeted him, “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” 

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day,” Felix turned to Renley, “My fathers joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. And I can tell you one thing. Whatever he’s done, he’s done to get to you.” 

“I’m flattered,” Renley jested. 

“You know you’re his target,” began Dorian, “Expecting a trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here,” Dorian began walking toward the exit, “And I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch. And Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.” 

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” responded Felix, and he too left the Chantry. 

Renley broke the silence, “So, who’s up for some ale?” 

“My dear, have we nothing better to do?” drawled Vivienne. 

“We won’t make any moves until we’ve spoken with the war council back in Haven,” she reasoned, “And besides... it’s getting dark out. I say we stay at the inn overnight. We can head out at first light.” 

*** 

Heads turned as they entered the Gull & Lantern. It was alive with patrons, unwinding from the day. The four companions grabbed a table and as they ordered their drinks, Renley took notice of a woman leaning against the wall in the corner. And no wonder she’d caught Renley’s eye. 

With wild red curls and piercing green eyes, she made quite an impression. But perhaps what had drawn her in more than anything, was that the woman had taken notice of Renley as well. 

She swiveled a lute from her shoulder and began to sing, roaming about the inn as she did so. She drew moderate applause as her song came to an end, a few of the patrons tossing coin her way. 

Renley, having finished her drink, headed to the bar. She leaned against it, vying for the barmaid's attention. 

“Buy you a drink?” an enticing voice the quality of satin spoke to her. 

Renley turned to its possessor and leaned an elbow against the bar, “How about I buy you one? As thanks for the song.” 

“You’re too kind,” she fixed Renley with an alluring gaze, “Herald of Andraste.” 

“What gave it away?” she prodded, the corner of her lips twitching, “The scar? Or the glow?” 

“Actually, it was your companions,” they glanced at the party’s table. 

Vivienne was as eye-catching as ever, with pristine white robes trimmed in gold. Cassandra embodied the role of Seeker. Her countenance fierce and formidable. Sera’s tell was in the eyes. Sharp as razors, they were windows to her true nature. 

“You’ll never see an odder foursome than you lot.” 

Renley scoffed, “You’re absolutely right. We stick out like a sore thumb.” 

The bar maid waddled over to them at last. 

“Two please,” Renley placed her order with confidence. 

“Two what?” growled the barmaid. 

“Um...” Renley eyed her muscular forearms and crooked nose, “Ale.” 

“Humph,” the barmaid left and returned with two massive tankards that she slammed on the bar before them. 

Renley looked at the bard with wide eyes, and the woman laughed, “Old Marge can be a bit intimidating.” 

“Speaking of names,” she exhaled and extended a hand to her new acquaintance, “I’m Renley.” 

“Ezra,” she accepted Renley’s hand, “I won’t lie to you Renley, I approached you with a purpose.” 

“Oh?” Renley grabbed her ale as the bard’s hand slid from her own. 

“I wanted to meet the Herald so that I might write her into a song.” 

She chuckled into her tankard, “And what will the song say?” 

“That she had a scar,” Ezra grabbed her drink. Renley’s eyes lingered on her fingers. 

“A glowing hand,” she brought the tankard to her lips, an impish smile tugging at the corners, “Kept intimidating company but told bad jokes-” 

“Ouch-” a lopsided grin was fixed on Renley’s features. 

“And,” Ezra’s voice lowered, drawing Renley in as she went on, “That she was very, very pretty...” 

The bard had laid her trap with the skill of a master huntsman. And the Herald made exceptionally easy prey. 

Ezra smiled triumphantly as she took in the dazed expression of her bar-mate, “I’ll leave you to your friends.” 

She slid from her stool and sauntered away into the crowd. Renley watched her retreat before returning to her companions. 

“Careful with that one my dear,” Vivienne cautioned as Renley took her seat, “Now that you’re the face of the Inquisition people will try and use you to advance their social standing.” 

“Aw, but Viv,” her wits were returning in the absence of the bard, “Have you ever seen a woman so-” 

“Darling, please. Don’t be so simple. She may have a fine voice and a pretty face but-” 

“A fine voice? I was talking about Marge.” 

The group looked at her questioningly. 

“The bar maid,” Renley clarified. 

They looked over to see Marge glowering at them. Vivienne sighed as Cassandra inhaled her drink and suffered a mild coughing fit. Sera collapsed in a fit of giggles. 

With full stomachs and tired eyes, it was time to retire to their rooms. Renley bid them goodnight and, not quite ready to end the day, exited the tavern and found her way to the docks. 

She leaned against a wooden post, watching moonlight dance along the water. The sound of footsteps emerged from behind. Renley looked over her shoulder and found Ezra making her way toward her. 

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked. 

Renley looked her over. She was, as Vivienne had put it, pretty. But it was far more than that. She was familiar. From her heart shaped face, to the freckles on her nose. 

“I could sleep through anything,” she gazed at emerald eyes, birds whirring in her stomach, “But I’m not sure I’m ready for the night to end.” 

“Come on then,” Ezra smirked, “I know of a place.” 

*** 

A while later, the two lie bare together, Ezra resting in the crook of Renley’s arm. The smell of her hair brought honeysuckle to Renley’s mind. With the warmth of her body, and the gentle caress of Ezra’s fingers against her side, she felt her eyes grow heavy. 

“I can’t stay,” Renley said, more to herself than anything. 

She rose and began to dress. Arms encircled her shoulders. Ezra spoke softly in her ear, “You can come to me again, if you’re ever back in Redcliffe and have need of comfort.” 

She turned Renley’s chin and kissed her deeply. 

Renley smiled against her lips, “Perhaps you’ll have your song ready then.” 

“I have plenty of material now, don’t I?” 

*** 

As Renley approached the inn she spotted a familiar figure leaning against its entrance. 

“How was your walk?” asked Sera. 

“Satisfying.” 

“Did she steal your coin purse?” 

Renley pulled her coins from her pocket and held them up in the flickering light of the lantern. 

“Shame,” said Sera, “It’s what I would have done.” 

Renley grinned, “They can’t all be as resourceful as you.” 

“She was well fit that one. But old Marge will be disappointed.” 

Renley laughed, “Let’s get some rest. We have a long day ahead.” 


	12. Warden Blackwall

The companions trekked their way through the Hinterlands, closing rifts, helping people where they could, and toward the end of the day they finally came across their target. 

“Remember how to carry your shields! You’re not hiding you’re holding! Otherwise, it's useless!” 

“Warden Blackwall?” 

Blackwall turned to the companions. He was a stout man with a beard worthy of its own art exhibit. He walked over to Renley and addressed her. 

“You’re not- how do you know my name? Who sent-” a shout interrupted his question. They turned to see a group of highway men, one taking aim with their bow. Blackwall raised his shield as the man fired, the arrow piercing the shield with a thud. 

Blackwall looked down at Renley, his arm still raised and face full of determination. He made an imposing first impression, “Thats it. Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first! Conscripts! Here they come!” 

Blackwall threw down his shield and picked up a greatsword. The group cut down the highway men with ease. Renley kept an eye on Blackwall as they fought. He swung his sword with great skill, finishing anyone who dared come near. 

When the fighting was done, he walked over to one of the highway men’s corpses and knelt beside them, “Sorry bastards.” 

He rose and addressed his men, “Good work conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve... well, thieves are made not born. Take back what they stole. Return to your families. You’ve saved yourselves.” 

As his men gathered their things, Blackwall returned to Renley, “Now you’re no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?” 

“I’m Renley. I’m with the Inquisition.” 

“And what does the Inquisition want with me?” 

“You are the only warden across Ferelden and Orlais that we were able to locate,” Renley watched him carefully, interested to find any hint or subtle change of expression that would indicate his dishonesty, “They’ve all disappeared. We fear it might have something to do with the murder of the Divine.” 

“Makers balls. The wardens and the divine? That can’t- no, you’re asking so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know they’d disappeared. But we do that right? No more blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten.” 

“Do you know where any are?” 

“I haven’t seen any wardens for months. I travel alone. Recruiting. Not much interest because the arch demon is a decade dead and no need to conscript because there’s no blight coming. Treaties give wardens the right to take what we need, who we need. These idiots forced this fight. So, I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think are.” 

Renley’s first impression of Blackwall, other than how impressive his beard was, was that his words were a mess. He was talking all over the place. Explaining every action as if he were already on trial. _Not everyone can be a smooth liar._ She pitied him, this man standing before her spouting nonsense as though trying to convince himself he was a warden. It was almost painful to listen to. 

“Join us,” said Renley simply, “We could use a warden in our ranks.” 

Blackwall paused, “The divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these... thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, I’m with you.” 

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall.” 

They shook hands, “We both need to know what’s going on and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This warden walks with the Inquisition.” 

Renley cringed internally. _I love you Blackwall, I do... but you have to stop._

*** 

With their work complete in the Hinterlands, at least for a time, they began the long journey back to haven with Blackwall at their side. It was uneventful for a time, the companions made idle conversation. They made their way along a steady incline, the sun hanging low on the horizon. As they crested the hill a familiar swirl of green greeted them. 

“Alright Blackwall, time to fight your first rift.” 

The five of them had no trouble cutting down the demons, weakening the rift until it morphed into its final form. Renley raised her mark, harnessing its energy and focusing her will, closing the rift with a satisfying resonance. 

Blackwall stood in awe, looking at the spot the rift had been, “Incredible.” 

“You get used to it,” said Sera. 

A growl from the edge of the forest drew their attention. Shining eyes peered from the shadows. More joined as the creature emerged from the trees. A bear. A massive bear, unlike any Renley had ever seen. 

“Great bears!” declared Blackwall. 

The bears charged as the companions regrouped. Sera rained arrows down on the beasts while Vivienne conjured barriers around her companions. It was a peculiar sensation and tinted Renley’s vision blue. Cassandra and Blackwall charged head on, like true warriors while Renley flanked. She slashed at one of the bear’s hind legs crippling it. The bear kicked out with its other leg catching Renley right in her hip. She fell backward as Blackwall brought his sword down on the bears neck striking the killing blow. Renley regained her footing and stabbed the next bear in the hip making sure to pay mind to its striking distance. The remaining bears fell quickly and with little incident. 

“Is everyone alright?” asked Renley as she sheathed her swords. 

“I think so,” replied Blackwall. 

“No injuries here,” said Vivienne. 

They continued down the road, the day growing darker by the minute. 

“Cassandra...” began Sera, “Have you ever punched a bear?” 

“What!? No! Why would I?” 

“Well, what’s it for then? The training I mean. You stand harder than Cullen’s soldiers. Must be for something.” 

“I am a Seeker in the service of the divine. I am a warrior of truth.” 

“All right, all right. Just seems like you could punch a bear if you wanted.” 

They found a camping spot just as the sun disappeared. Vivienne conjured a fire while the other four set up their tents. Blackwall had his own accommodations, having traveled on his own for so long. The other four had two tents between them. They typically stayed packed on the horses and were there as a last resort. 

“Cassandra, my dear. We will be sharing a tent, I presume?” 

“Actually Viv... Cassandra is my tent mate. You’ll bunk with Sera.” 

Vivienne glanced at Sera from the corner of her eyes. Sera was shaking a jar of god knows what, giving Vivienne a cold stare. 

“Hm. Quite.” replied Vivienne. 

Cassandra and Vivienne retired into their tents as the other three settled in around the fire. 

“What’s in that jar anyway, Sera?” asked Renley. 

“Bees.” 

Renley laughed. 

Sera turned to Blackwall, “Look at you all serious. What do wardens do when there’s no blight, anyway?” 

“Whatever it takes to keep the world safe,” replied Blackwall. 

“Like join Inquisitions?” 

“If that’s what’s necessary. Hey, you’re here too.” 

Sera laughed, “The Inquisition can’t be all broody beards like you and Cassandra.” 

“She doesn’t have the hair for it,” replied Blackwall. 

Sera smiled mischievously, “Oh I bet she does. Places.” 

Cassandra yelled from inside her tent, “That’s enough!” 

“Knew it!” 

The three around the fire roared with laughter. 

“If you three don’t mind! I’d like to get some sleep!” Vivienne called from the other tent. 

Sera lowered her voice as she got up from her seat, “No worries. I’ve got plans for Vivi... and her drawers.” She retired to her tent. 

It was a moonless night. Stars blinking into existence one by one as the sky grew darker. All was quiet but for the cracks and pops of the burning wood before them. 

Blackwall turned to Renley, “It’s quite a crew you’ve got here.” 

“Good thing too,” Renley warmed her hands near the fire, “I just sort of... fell into all of this. But I’d be nowhere without them. Cassandra in particular. She’s taught me more than I’ll ever be able to repay her for.” 

“A mentor doesn’t do what they do for a price. The payment they want comes from watching their pupil grow. Into whatever it is they’re aiming for. A blacksmith, a warrior, a leader...” 

Renley looked at him, and he looked calmly back. He was perhaps, the oldest member in her company. He was a man on the run from his past, chasing redemption in the form of vigilante justice. He was grizzled, and had the kind of wisdom that one could only earn from a lifetime of mistakes. Renley thought he belonged in the old west with a revolver on his hip and a trusty steed by his side. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she told him. 

“So am I.” 

*** 

Renley entered her tent a while later to find Cassandra still awake. Facing away from the entrance, shirt pulled back over her shoulder, and clearly struggling with something. 

“What are you doing?” asked Renley. 

Cassandra turned, revealing a small gash just beneath her collarbone. She held what appeared to be a thread and needle in one hand, a bloodied rag in the other. 

Renley walked to her, “Shouldn’t your armor have covered this?” 

“It did,” she nodded toward her damaged shoulder guard. 

“Let me see those,” Renley took the needle and thread. The needle looked strange. It was definitely not metal, but it did have a small curve that made it perfect for its intended purpose. Renley set to work, piercing the skin and pulling the thread through, wrapping it around her finger and pulling it firm to make a solid stitch. She cut the thread and moved down the wound tying stitch after stitch until it was neatly closed. Grabbing a clean linen and soaking it in a bit of water, she gently worked the blood away. 

“Your shoulder is bruised,” Renley informed her. 

“I’m more worried about the wound,” replied Cassandra. 

Renley chuckled, “You have a point but, I think it will be worse tomorrow. You might have a rough time moving it.” 

Cassandra examined her shoulder, the cut now closed in a neat line, “You have experience as a healer?” 

Renley paused, one hand resting on Cassandra’s shoulder, the other holding the now red fabric she’d been using to clean with. She sat with this thought a moment, feeling as though her mind were trying to conjure something. As she tried to bring it into focus, she felt as though she could smell... bleach? 

“Herald?” 

Renley blinked and looked at Cassandra, “I think I do.” 

“We will figure you out yet.” 

She wiped the last of the blood away from the shoulder and gave Cassandra a reproachful look, “We’ll have to get you to those healing waters.” 

Cassandra suppressed a laugh, “I could not have known the waters would have such an effect on you.” 

Renley walked over to her bed roll, “Yeah I’m sure that’s what you tell everyone,” she removed her top layers and lowered herself down, wincing at the pain in her hip. Cassandra took notice. 

“Are you injured?” 

“Just bruised,” Renley raised her shirt to reveal a large bruise running along her side. She kicked off her boots and laid back with a soft groan, not even bothering to get under the blanket. 

“I didn’t notice you get hit.” 

“What do I have to do to get you to pay attention to me? Become the Herald of Andraste?” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes and tossed her boot at Renley. She groaned as it made contact with her ribs. 

“Sleep well, Herald,” she blew out their lantern. 

“Cassandra?” Renley spoke to the dark. 

“Yes?” 

“You can call me Renley. It is my name after all.” 

There was a brief pause as Renley waited for her reply. 

“Perhaps I’ll call you loser. Since you’ve yet to best me in a duel.” 

Renley recoiled from the blow, “Cassandra!” 

“Get some sleep then, Renley. It’s a long way back to Haven.” 


	13. In Hushed Whispers

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!” 

Tempers were running hot in the war room as they discussed the events at Redcliffe. Cullen, as was expected, was highly in favor of forgetting the mages altogether. 

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister,” replied Cassandra, “This cannot be allowed to stand.” 

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” added Josephine, “It’s an obvious trap.” 

“We can’t ignore this,” frustration crept into Renley’s tone despite her best efforts. 

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in all of Ferelden,” began Cullen hotly, “It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there you’ll die and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the rift. I won’t allow it.” 

He wouldn’t _allow_ it? Renley prickled at the notion. She made to step forward but felt a familiar hand on her shoulder. Cassandra knew her well. 

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” reasoned Leliana. 

“Even if we could assault the keep it would be for naught,” countered Josephine, “an ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.” 

Cassandra’s expression tightened, “The Magister-” 

“Has outplayed us,” interceded Cullen. 

“Enough,” Renley grew tired of the back and forth. Cullen’s air of superiority was getting under her skin, “Leliana. You were at Redcliffe castle during the fifth blight. Is there any weakness you can recall? Anything we can take advantage of?” 

She creased her brow, “Wait... there is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.” 

Cullen shot her down, “Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the Magister.” 

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana looked at Renley, “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” 

The Commander considered, “It could work. But it’s a huge risk.” 

The doors to the war room burst open and in strolled Dorian, dashing as ever, an Inquisition soldier hot on his heels. 

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” the Tevinter mage gave every appearance of belonging at the war council. 

The soldier was breathless with the effort of keeping up, “This man says he has information on the magister and his methods, Commander.” 

Dorian tilted his chin at Renley, “Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So, if you’re going, I’m coming along.” 

“This plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen looked at Renley, “We can’t in good conscience order you to do that. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.” 

She gave the commander a cold look, “No orders necessary, Commander. Leliana, get your agents briefed. We leave as soon as you’re ready.” 

*** 

Cassandra pulled her aside as they left the war room. When they were out of earshot she spoke, “You can't lose your temper. Not with your advisors.” 

“ _Everyone_ had tempers.” 

“You cannot let emotions overrule reason. They look to you-” 

“As their mascot-” 

“As the face of the Inquisition. Like it or not, this puts you in a position of influence,” she fixed Renley with a stern look, “If I can teach you one thing, let it be control.” 

Renley adjusted her shoulders and exhaled, “You’re right.” 

After a moment of deliberation, she met the Seeker's eye, “Thank you.” 

Cassandra regarded her, satisfied with what she found, “Come then. We have much to do.” 

*** 

They arrived at Redcliffe castle several days later. It loomed in the distance, looking less like the idyllic fantasy setting the companions had previously encountered, and more like a scene from Dracula. 

Perhaps it was due to her knowledge of what lay in wait. Or perhaps Alexius’ magic was like a disease within the castle, radiating its sickness into the very air around it. 

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” 

Renley, Varric and Cassandra entered the main hall as they were announced. The atmosphere felt heavy and stale. Gloom befogged the room. The sun itself shied from the aperture, as though showing its opposition to the state of affairs. 

Alexius rose from his throne, the flickering hearth behind him casting an eerie glow on the sharp accents of his armor, “My friend! It’s so good to see you again!” 

As the mage made his way toward them, Renley reflected on how thoroughly nauseating she found him. 

“And your associates of course! I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.” 

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate!” Fiona rushed into the throne room, vexed by her lack of inclusion. 

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.” 

“Let her stay,” suggested Renley, “It’s her people we’re discussing, after all.” 

Alexius returned to his throne, “The Inquisition needs mages to seal the Breach. And I have them,” he spread his hands wide, “So what shall you offer in exchange?” 

“How about you let the mages come with us,” Renley stepped forward, “and we don’t imprison you for slavery.” 

Alexius’ expression went from welcoming to furious, “Are you here to waste my time?” 

“Kind of,” she murmured. 

“She knows everything, father,” Felix announced his presence. 

Alexius’ face fell as he turned to face his son, “Felix. What have you done?” 

“He’s trying to help you,” answered Renley. 

“So speaks the thief!” Alexius spat at her, “Do you think you can turn my son against me? You walk into _my_ stronghold, with your stolen mark... a gift you don’t even understand, and you think you can threaten me?” 

He reached into his pocket, “You’re nothing but a mistake.” 

“Because of this?” Renley held up her mark, “Your master seems to be doing fine without it.” 

“You-” he sputtered, “You know nothing of The Elder One. You don’t deserve his-” 

“Father, do you have any idea what you sound like?” 

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” Dorian appeared from the shadows and went to Felix’s side. 

“Dorian,” Alexius sneered, “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.” 

“He will never give you what you want,” reasoned Renley. She edged closer, eyes glancing to the fist he had pulled from his pocket. 

“Soon he will be a god!” Alexius’ voice rose, “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric ocean to the Frozen seas!” 

“You cannot involve my people in this!” cried Fiona. 

“Alexius,” began Dorian, “This is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?” 

“Stop it father! Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach and let’s go home.” 

“No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!” 

“Save me?” Felix looked at his father with pity in his eyes. 

“There is a way,” Alexius’ voice shook with emotion, “The elder one promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple-” 

“I’m going to die,” Felix said firmly, “You need to accept that.” 

Alexius shook his head slowly, backing away toward the throne, “Seize them Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!” 

The Venatori, instead of rushing forward at their master's behest, began to drop one after the other. Inquisition agents replaced them where they fell. 

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” declared Renley. 

“You are a _mistake_!” he shouted back, “You never should have existed!” 

Renley rushed forward as Alexius opened his fist revealing a glowing green shape. If she could get to the amulet before- 

“No!” cried Dorian. He swung his staff around and knocked the amulet from Alexius’ hand. 

There was a flash of light and Renley felt as though the ground had dropped from beneath her. It was as though she were falling through a wind tunnel, her body tumbling through nothing. Then she hit a hard surface. Water rushed into her boots and down her shirt as she stumbled to her feet. 

“Blood of The Elder One!” a man wearing a pointed mask exclaimed, “Where’d they come from?” 

Two guards rushed her. A bolt of lightning shot past her ear, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. It hit the first guard in the chest. Renley made short work of the second, dodging his assault and using the momentum to throw him to the ground. The man landed at Dorian’s feet. 

“Oh. Hi,” she offered a breathless greeting to her partner in time. 

The guard stirred and Dorian knocked him in the head with his staff. 

“Right, now that that’s over with,” Dorian stepped over the body and observed their surroundings, “Displacement... interesting.” 

Renley waited as Dorian worked through their circumstances. 

“It’s not where, it’s when!” he concluded triumphantly. 

“Good. Let’s get moving.” 

“I’m right behind you.” 

They sloshed through the water and up the dungeon stairs, their wet footsteps slapping against the stone. The dungeon was a maze of crumbling stone and red lyrium. 

They came across Cassandra in the lower dungeon, sitting on the floor of her cell, reciting the Chant of Light. She looked up as they approached. 

“You’ve returned to us. Can it be?” her voice sounded strange and distorted, “Has Andraste given us another chance?” 

Her face fell as she processed what stood before her, “Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.” 

Renley opened the cell and went to her, kneeling by her side. She looked her in the eye and what she saw was unnerving. Pupils dilated, what little iris you could see red. She placed a hand on Cassandra’s forehead. Her skin was cold and damp. 

“Come on,” Renley grabbed her under the arm and pulled her to her feet, “You’re not done just yet.” 

“I was there,” she continued, “The Magister obliterated you with a gesture.” 

“I’m immune to explosions. Don’t you remember?” she steered Cassandra from the cell. 

“Now that sounds like a story,” said Dorian, “Alexius sent us forward in time. If we can find his amulet, perhaps we can go back and prevent any of this from happening.” 

“Go back in time? Then...” she looked to Renley, “Can you make it so that none of this ever took place?” 

“That’s the plan.” 

Cassandra stood a little taller, “Alexius’ master... after you died-” 

“Went forward in time-” corrected Dorian. 

“-we could not stop The Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards... it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing.” 

Renley knew that soon, Cassandra would remember none of this. But her fearful expression was unnerving. And now she was looking to Renley with confidence. It was a complete role reversal. 

She felt a rush of emotion for the Seeker. She wouldn’t fail her, “We’re going to change that.” 

They found Cassandra a sword to wield and set off in search of Varric. They found him in the upper dungeons. 

“Andraste’s sacred knickers,” he exclaimed, “You’re alive!” 

Renley opened his cell, “You don’t call me lucky for nothing.” 

“Where were you? How did you escape?” despite the clear red lyrium poisoning, there was still a roguish twinkle in the dwarf’s eye. Renley admired him immensely for it. 

“We didn’t escape,” explained Dorian, “Alexius sent us into the future.” 

“Everything that happens to you is weird,” said Varric. 

Renley chuckled, “Just you wait. Ready to go take down a time lord?” 

“You want to take on Alexius? I’m in. Let’s go.” 

The companions jogged through the dungeons, taking out Venatori as they happened upon them. A few flights of stairs later, they rounded a corner to the sound of voices. Renley hurried down the hall and paused at the slightly ajar door. 

“You will break!” a menacing voice full of gravel met her ears. 

“I will _die_ first.” 

Renley kicked the door open with a bang, startling the interrogator. Leliana was hanging from her wrists in the middle of the room, face scarred and sunken. It was the gruesome result of varied and extensive torture. Her eyes snapped to Renley’s. 

“Or you will,” Leliana raised her legs and wrapped them around the guard's neck, strangling him. 

Renley ran forward as he fell, fingers fumbling at his pockets in search of the key. She unlocked the shackles and Leliana landed hard on her feet, staggering into Cassandra. 

“Leliana-” Renley began. She was interrupted by the Spymaster’s fist landing hard against her cheek. 

“ _Ow_ ,” she placed her fingers against the point of impact, “ _Was that really necessary?_ ” 

“You tell me,” Leliana glowered at her. 

“It’s not like any of this is _my_ fault!” 

“Maybe not, but it still felt good-” 

“Like _that’s_ a good-” 

Dorian interjected, “Oh, a _lovers’_ quarrel.” 

“We’re not lovers!” they chanted back. 

Leliana turned away, “The Magister is probably in his chambers.” 

“Aren’t you curious about how we got here?” asked Dorian. 

“No,” a chill emanated from the Spymaster. She walked about the dungeon until she found a bow. 

Renley approached her with caution, “Leliana-” 

“This is all pretend to you,” her voice was low and threatening, “Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.” 

As they walked from the chamber Dorian asked, “Why do I get the sense that you all know something I don’t?” 

*** 

“It’s over Alexius,” Renley called to the mage. They’d fought through dozens of Venatori. Worked out the stupid door puzzle. Gotten lost more than once. Renley’s nerves were on edge. Her patience wearing thin. 

Alexius didn’t move at their appearance. He gazed into the hearth, unblinking, “I knew you would reappear again. Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.” 

“Was it worth it?” asked Dorian, “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” 

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.” 

“You can fix this,” reasoned Renley, “Give us the amulet.” 

“The Elder One comes for you, for me... for us all,” replied Alexius. 

A grunt drew their attention. They looked over to see Leliana holding a blade against Felix’s throat. 

“Felix!” cried Alexius. 

“That’s Felix?” Dorian’s eyes widened, “Makers breath Alexius what have you done?” 

“He would have died Dorian. I saved him! Please don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything you ask!” 

“Give us the amulet!” Renley threw a sharp look at Leliana, “And we _will l_ et him go.” 

“Let him go and I swear you’ll get what you want!” Alexius pleaded. 

“I want the world back,” red beads formed on Felix’s neck beneath Leliana’s blade. 

She released him. Alexius, all of his attention on his son, didn’t even notice as Leliana threw her knife at him. It sank deep into his left eye. He fell forward and moved no more. Felix didn’t flinch. He crouched in the very spot Leliana had left him with empty eyes and a vacant expression. 

The party gathered around Alexius’ body. Dorian pried the amulet from his fist. 

“This is the same amulet he used before,” he observed, “I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used. And I should be able to reopen the rift.” 

“An _hour_ ?” Leliana fumed, “That’s impossible! You _must_ go now!” 

The castle began to shake. Stones broke loose and fell from the ceiling. 

“The Elder One,” declared Leliana. 

“You have to hurry,” urged Varric, “This... is bad.” 

Cassandra placed her hand on Varric’s shoulder. They exchanged a long look. 

“We’ll hold the main door,” a piercing reptilian screech shook the room. Varric continued, “Once they break through, it’s all you, Nightengale.” 

Renley’s pulse quickened as her companions walked from the throne room, closing the doors behind them. 

“Cast your spell,” Leliana readied her bow, “You have as much time as I have arrows.” 

Dorian set to work as the sound of fighting grew louder outside. 

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame,” Leliana nocked an arrow and drew her bow, the string grazing her cheek. The doors burst open. A demon threw Cassandra’s body on the floor at their feet. 

“Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side...” Leliana fired arrows as fast as her bow could release them. A pile of bodies formed at the threshold. But the Elder One’s army was limitless. They poured into the throne room with overwhelming volume. 

An arrow pierced Leliana’s shoulder. Renley instinctively took a step toward her. 

“You move and we all die!” yelled Dorian. 

Renley stumbled back to him. She knew she should stop watching, but found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the fight. 

Leliana, out of arrows and over run by the enemy, used her bow to knock back their advance. She made herself the target, holding her own until there were just too many. 

A Venatori grabbed her from behind, wrapping an arm around her neck. The last thing Renley saw was a terror demon, ripping into Leliana’s abdomen. And then she was falling through the wind tunnel again. She landed firmly on her feet. Standing in front of Alexius with Dorian at her side. 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” quipped Dorian. 

Renley said nothing. She could still see Leliana being ripped apart in her mind's eye. 

“You won,” replied Alexius, falling pathetically to his knees, “There is no point extending this charade.” 

“Felix...” he looked to his son. 

“I’m going to be alright father.” 

“You’ll die.” 

“Everyone dies.” 

Inquisition agents surrounded Alexius, binding his wrists and steering him from the castle. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with!” said Dorian. 

As soon as he’d said it, armored soldiers marched into the throne room followed by a pretty blonde noble woman. 

“Or not...” 

“Grand enchantress Fiona,” began the woman. 

“Queen Anora,” Fiona bowed. 

“When I granted your mages sanctuary, I thought it was understood that they would not force people from their homes.” 

“Your majesty, let me assure you we never intended any of this.” 

“Your intentions ceased to matter when my people were threatened. I am re-sending my offer of sanctuary. You and your followers will leave Ferelden at once.” 

“But we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?” 

“Come with the Inquisition,” offered Renley. 

Fiona eyed her skeptically, “And what are the terms of this arrangement?” 

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” answered Dorian, “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?” 

Cassandra lent her advice, “Consider how these rebels have acted. They must be conscripted, not coddled.” 

“I’ve known a lot of mages,” added Varric, “They can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions. But still loyal.” 

“Help us close the Breach, and you can stay with the Inquisition. Not as prisoners. As partners,” said Renley. 

Fiona considered, “We accept. It would be madness not to.” 

“Good. Report to Haven and ready yourselves for a trip up the mountain. And keep in mind, your actions will be closely monitored.” 

“The Breach _will_ be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance,” Fiona left the room giving Queen Anora a wide berth. 

Renley hastened to her companions, placing an arm around Cassandra and a hand on Varric’s shoulder, “I’m so glad to see you guys.” 

“We haven’t left your side,” replied Cassandra. 

“I know Alexius is a little long winded but-” began Varric. 

“Alexius’ spell sent me and Dorian forward in time. The last time I saw you two,” Renley hesitated, “Well let’s just say things weren’t going so great for us. But you guys... I'm glad you're here.” 

She released them and they started for the door. Renley looked back as they neared the exit, “Dorian! Let’s go.” 

“That’s all I get?” he strolled over to the companions, “No recruitment speech? No fancy Orlesian ball full of scandal and intrigue?” 

Renley smirked, “Be careful what you wish for.” 

As they crossed the threshold Renley looked back once more, scanning the throne room for a familiar face. But she wasn’t there. 

She inhaled deeply as they left the castle. It felt good to see the sun, to feel a cool breeze against her skin after spending so many hours in the hellscape of an apocalyptic future. 

But she couldn’t shake the image from her mind of the terror demon’s final blow. And of Leliana... eyes darkened in desperation, seeing their mission through to the very end. 


	14. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Renley dismounted as they neared Haven’s stables. Throwing the reins to the nearest soldier, she hastened to the Chantry weaving her way through mages and soldiers. Her footsteps echoed in vaulted ceilings as she neared the war room. Josephine loitered at the threshold of her office. 

“Where’s Leliana?” Renley asked her between breaths. 

“I’m here,” Leliana appeared in the doorway at the Ambassador’s side. 

“Let’s talk.” 

They left Josephine with no further explanation. 

“Hello to you too,” she murmured as she watched their retreating figures. 

They entered the derelict office in the dungeons that had become their meeting spot. 

Renley wrapped her arms around Leliana, “It’s good to see you.” 

She placed Renley at  arm's length and eyed her with bemusement, “You just saw me not even a week ago.” 

“Under very different circumstances. I went into Redcliffe knowing what would happen and what I would see... but I wasn’t prepared for it. Not to see everyone like that.” 

Leliana gave an exasperated laugh, “It went just as it was supposed to-” 

“You are an incredible fighter,” the words spilled forth. Born of nerves, it didn’t matter the content. But the dam had broken, and she found what she needed most was to divulge to her confidant, “What you did in the future-” 

“You’re shaking,” Leliana ceased the flood with a hand on the others arm. She turned to the desk and grabbed the old bottle of whiskey from the desk. 

Renley felt her face grow hot. She placed a knuckle to her eye, and chuckled, “It’s been a long week.” 

Leliana eyed her as she poured the brown liquor into a dusty glass. She offered it to Renley, “How did you get that bruise on your face?” 

“You hit me,” Renley accepted the drink and smiled sheepishly, “Back at Redcliffe castle.” 

Leliana covered her mouth, trying to conceal her amusement, “Why?” 

“It’s not funny,” Renley’s smile widened, “You were... well when we freed you, the first thing you did... after strangling the guard with your legs of course, was deck me.” 

“Maker!” her voice shook with laughter, “You must have deserved it-” 

“Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t strangle me too. You are capable of some truly frightening things-” 

“And don’t forget it,” her eyes sparked with mischief, “Herald or not you’re no match for me.” 

Renley inhaled through her teeth, “I don’t know... I’ve been training with Cassandra. A  _ lot. _ ” 

“Cassandra too,” she raised her eyebrows, daring Renley to object. 

She took the bait with a crooked grin fixed on her features, “You could  _ not  _ beat Cassandra-” 

“I could.” 

“She punches bears in the  _ face.”  _

Leliana  smiled, “That’s ridiculous.” 

“It’s true,” Renley took a sip of her drink, the brown liquid burning as it went down, “I saw her kill three great bears using only her fists.” 

“And, that is why I’d beat her. While she’s busy pummeling bears, I’d have picked them off, one by one from the shadows.” 

A shiver rolled through Renley’s shoulders, “I genuinely don’t know which one of you I’m more afraid of.” 

“Fear the threat you do not see,” a dangerous glint danced through frozen pools of blue, “It is usual the more deadly.” 

*** 

Renley left the dungeon feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There was no use worrying about events that, in a sense, hadn’t actually happened. Alexius’ research and amulet had all been seized by the Inquisition and were in the custody of their Spymaster, the location of which only she knew. 

She and Leliana ascended the stairs to the Chantry and found Josephine, Cullen and Cassandra embroiled in debate. One look at their Commander’s face and Renley deflated. 

“It’s not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared!” 

Josephine responded, “If we resend the offer of an allegiance, it makes the Inquisition look incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.” 

Cullen rounded on Renley as they approached, “What were you  _ thinking _ ? Turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!” 

“Thank you, Commander. I’m aware-” 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her.

“We need them to close the Breach,” Renley continued calmly, “And they do have oversight. Your soldiers, Leliana’s agents... they’re all keeping an eye out. What would you have me do? Shackle them and lock them in the dungeons?” 

“That’s not-” a dull flush crept into Cullen’s neck, “I know we need them for the Breach but, they could do as much damage as the demons themselves,” he turned to Cassandra, “You were there, Seeker. Why didn’t you intervene?” 

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it,” she was unwavering in the face of the Commander’s frustration, “The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Dorian, as had become his standard, made his entrance from the shadows, “The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was, just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” 

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” continued Cassandra. 

“We should do it sooner rather than later,” added Renley. 

“Agreed,” said Josephine. 

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future’,” Leliana looked around at the group, “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?” 

“Sounds like something a  Tevinter cult might do,” quipped Dorian, “  Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!” 

“One battle at a time,” replied Cullen, “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room,” he turned to Renley, “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

Little did he  know...

*** 

The Breach was still a swirling green monster over the  Frostback mountain peaks. Renley stood at the gates of Haven, her mark tingling as she admired the beast. There was electricity in the air on this cold winter’s morning. Perhaps due to the hundred or so mages that had taken refuge in the village. Or maybe what she sensed was her body preparing for the events to follow. 

With preparations complete and the soldiers and mages organized, it was time to march. Renley and Cassandra led the group, retracing the steps of their first adventure together. Dorian, Vivienne and Solas followed close behind.

Cassandra turned to her as they neared the ruins of the temple, “Are you ready to end this?” 

Renley’s nerves were mounting. Soon after closing the Breach, she’d come face to face with the villain. The thought of it made her wonder if perhaps she should have skipped breakfast. 

“I’m ready,” she breathed. 

The mages took up position around the Breach as Renley, Solas and Cassandra approached from below. Her mark had gone from tingling to sparking. It was a mass of unstable energy itching to escape her palm. 

“Mages!” called Solas, “Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!” 

The energy was staggering.  She doubled over with the weight of it. She struggled to contain it, feeling as though it would jump from her hand at any moment creating another explosion. 

The mages barred their staffs, lending their magic to the mark and Renley felt the energy begin to organize. She walked forward and raised her hand to the sky. 

“Pay attention, Harding,” she murmured, “This is your cue.”

The mark connected to the Breach with a flash of green. Her arm vibrated violently. Her hand grew hotter and hotter until the connection surged, sending a shockwave throughout the ruin and knocking her and everyone around down. 

Renley knelt on the ground as her mark settled. A bead of sweat dripped from her nose. She took a deep breath of cold mountain air. 

A familiar hand grabbed her shoulder. She looked up at the Seeker and smirked, “See? Easy.” 

The clearing erupted with cheers, in celebration of the long awaited close of the Breach. 

*** 

Renley's stomach was in knots as they descended the mountain. They walked through the gates of Haven to a scene of merriment. Crowds gathered in the village square, singing, dancing, and drinking. 

“What’s wrong?” Cassandra had been watching her, “You should be celebrating. The Breach is closed. We can breathe.” 

She glanced at the Seeker and turned back to the gates. She looked out over the frozen lake and scanned the tree line. If something had happened to Harding-

Cassandra grabbed her arm, “Renley, what-” 

“Herald!” 

Renley whipped around to see a familiar face bobbing through the crowd, “Scout Harding!” 

Harding placed her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath, “An army... I’ve seen-”

Renley turned to Cassandra, “Get Cullen and Josephine. Meet us at the Chantry.” She grabbed Scout Harding and pulled her through the crowd to where Leliana stood. 

“Maker! I was wondering-” 

“No time-” she grabbed Leliana and steered the two of them to the Chantry doors. She turned to them, speaking quickly, “The advisors and Cassandra are on their way. You know what to do?” 

They nodded. 

Cassandra approached with Cullen and Josephine, “What’s going on?” 

“An army is approaching Haven,” Harding informed them. 

Josephine’s eyes widened, “Under what banner?” 

“None.” 

“Were you able to count them?” asked Cullen. 

“There were more than I could count. It’s a massive force of Templars and mages with pointed armor-” 

“Venatori,” said Cassandra. 

“We must ready our forces-” 

“We must evacuate,” Leliana  interrupted their Commander, “If the army is as big as you say we cannot hold them here.” 

“If we leave now, we risk a fight in the wilds,” he reasoned, “At least Haven offers  _ some  _ defense-” 

“We can use the tunnels in the Chantry,” continued Leliana. 

“Where do the tunnels lead?” he asked, “They could put us right in the way of the enemy.” 

“I spotted them to the west,” confirmed Harding. 

“The tunnels come out far north of here.” 

“And if they change course when they realize we are evacuating?” questioned Cassandra. 

“We’ll draw them in,” replied Renley, “Give them a decent fight until our people are safe.” 

“But where will we go from there?” asked Josephine. 

“My scouts have a camp in the north. We can regroup then.” 

Cullen looked down at Harding, “How far off are they?” 

Harding glanced at Renley. 

“It could take hours to evacuate,” said Renley, “We need to start _ now _ .” 

“I’ll ready the soldiers,” Cullen  disappeared into the crowd. 

“And I’ll get my agents into position,” Leliana touched eyes with Renley before retreating. 

The remaining three looked to Renley.

“Cassandra-” she hesitated as she laid eyes on the Seeker. In this moment, she felt painfully underqualified to give orders. But her role in the Inquisition was transforming. And she needed to adapt with it. 

“-gather our companions. Josephine, head to the Chantry with Scout Harding. You two will organize the evacuation.” 

Renley walked to the middle of the village square and found a low brick wall to stand on. She observed the crowd for a moment. Eyes began to notice her presence. Little by little, they turned to her, watching expectantly. 

She cleared her throat, and in this most  authoritative voice she could muster, “People of Haven!”

“Herald!” a small voice called from the crowd. 

The call was echoed, and soon her title was being chanted among mirthful cheers and drunken shanties. 

She waved them down, “People of Haven! Listen!”

Blackwall grabbed the nape of a red-faced man. He clammed up at once, so sobering was the glare in Blackwall’s visage. The crowd quieted enough for Renley’s voice to ring through the square. 

“We need every soldier to report to the barracks. Commander Cullen will give further instruction-”

The crowd stirred as soldiers broke loose, lessening their number. 

“What’s going on!?” a portly man with greasy curls shouted out. 

A murmur rippled through the crowd at his question. 

Renley clenched her jaw and continued, “We need every villager to go to the Chantry. Our scouts will guide you from there-”

“Tell us what’s happening!” a young woman clutched a child with a shock of red hair to her side. 

The murmurs grew louder, buzzing throughout the square like a rattled hornet’s nest. Renley’s nerves mirrored the disturbance. The effort of speaking felt like plunging into a frozen lake. 

“Our scouts have spotted an army marching on Haven!” she blurted out. 

The nest broke loose, threatening chaos. 

“We have a plan!” she yelled to the scuffle, “Villagers! Go to the Chantry! We will see you to safety!”

The crowd surged as villagers retreated. Some hastened to the Chantry. Some ran back to their homes in a panic. 

One man walked right up to Renley and declared, “I will not be going anywhere thank you very much!” 

“Well,” Renley eyed him with exasperation, “If you change your mind, you know where to go.” 

Blackwall was the first of her companions to find her, “What do we need?” 

“Go to the barracks and lend your skill to the Commander.” 

He gave a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd. 

Her other companions found her one by one. She sent Varric to the Chantry, Solas and Vivienne to Fiona, which left Dorian, Sera and Cassandra. 

“Where do you want us?” asked Sera. 

“You three are with me,” they followed her down to the gates where the mages gathered. 

“Mages!” called Renley, “You have a choice. You can stay here with our Inquisition forces, or leave through the Chantry tunnels once the villagers are evacuated!” 

The mages stirred, exchanging nervous whispers. 

“The mages will stay and fight,” announced Fiona, “We stand with the Inquisition.” 

“Solas, Vivienne,” Renley addressed them, “Coordinate with Cullen.” 

The remaining companions exchanged glances. 

“Now what?” asked Sera. 

“We wait.” replied Cassandra. 

*** 

The sun grazed snowy mountain peaks casting Haven in shadows. The Chantry was now empty. The people of Haven, minus a stubborn villager or two, were well into the tunnels by now. The Commander and his soldiers stood ready at the gates. 

Snow sifted down on a windless evening, laying a thick powdery blanket across the frozen valley. Silence was an unspoken rule, enforced by premonition. The only exception a swish of robes across frost bitten earth, or the clink of a sword against steel chausses. 

A figure disturbed the horizon. 

“Stand ready!” called Cullen. 

More shapes followed, moving fast across the valley. 

“Archers! Take aim!” 

A boy with a slight frame sprinted straight for them, pursued by soldiers wearing Templar armor. 

The soldiers picked off the Templars. 

The boy stopped short of the Inquisition’s front line. He peaked up at them from beneath the brim of an overly large hat, “I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help.”

He paused as his eyes fell on Renley. They split into her, sensing through the deepest corners of her mind, “White as snow. Dark as coal. Not of this world. Scar of death-” 

“Go to the Chantry,” Renley quieted him, unnerved by his probing, “Find Varric. Tell him I sent you.” 

His eyes lingered and she felt as though she could feel is eyes carving through the outline of her scar. 

“Go!” she raised her voice and pointed to the Chantry. Cole retreated and she turned back to the valley. 

Shadows broke loose from the trees. Formations of torch wielding Templars and  Venatori marched across the frozen lake. The sound of their voices chanting in unison heralded their approach. 

“Inquisition!” the Commander drew his sword and called to his soldiers, “With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” 

Renley and her companions hastened to the first trebuchet as the opposition advanced.

Flaming arrow pierced snow and skin as they rained down among the enemy. The army’s chant rose to battle cries as they broke ranks and stormed the gates of Haven. 

The Inquisition’s army raised their shields and lowered their pikes, skewering the first wave of attack. A Templar vaulted the front line and landed among the Inquisition like a snake among mice. His comrade’s followed suit and soon the soldiers were mingling. 

The front line fell to pieces as the Templars breached their order. The battle culminated with the metallic sounds of steel and iron. Blood and bodies littered the snow. 

“To the gates!” 

Inquisition soldiers pulled back from the fight, drawing the opposition forward. A clutch formed on Haven’s threshold. Soldiers grappled at the gates, packed so tight their movement was restricted to head butts and toe stomping. 

A flaming arrow pierced the sky signaling the first trebuchet. It released its stone into the mountain side, creating a small avalanche that crippled a portion of the Elder One’s forces. The companions hurried to the second trebuchet as the mountain shed its snow.

The clutch weakened as the icy embrace of death enveloped the rearguard. Inquisition forces retreated further into the village and the enemy funneled through the gates to a horseshoe of mages. An elemental furry rained down with crippling force. The enemies number thinned enough for the soldiers to regain their footing. 

A second wave of Templars and  Venatori poured from the tree line. Their quantity was far greater than the first. The sheer magnitude would easily overwhelm Haven.

Another signal lit the sky. The companions fired the second trebuchet. Its stone struck true and unleashed an earth-shattering avalanche. It roared down the mountain and consumed the Elder One’s army. 

The smoke settled, and the companions exhaled. 

An ear-splitting reptilian screech rent the air. The trebuchet before them burst into flame, sending a shower of splinters in every direction. 

They sprinted for the village gates. A large winged shadow circled menacingly overhead. 

Cullen waved them forward, “Move it! Move it!” 

They barred the gates and ran for shelter amidst a storm of fire rained down from the jaws of the Archdemon.  Venatori breached Haven’s walls and pursued them  through the village. 

They came upon the Chantry and found a familiar face at its doors.

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!” 

“Chancellor Roderick,” Renley glared at him, “You should have been gone hours ago!” 

“I will not abandon-” an arrow struck him in the chest. Renley turned in time to see Sera put an arrow through the culprit. 

“Eat it!” she exclaimed. 

They dragged Roderick into the Chantry and closed the doors. 

“Herald!” Cullen addressed her, “Our position is not good! That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” 

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” said Cole, “I was in the fade but, it looked like that.” 

“I don’t care what it looked like!” Cullen glowered down at him, “It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone left in Haven.” 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole continued, unphased, “He only wants the Herald.” 

“Cullen,” said Renley, “Take the remainder of our people through the tunnels.” 

“They will find you,” answered Cole, “They will follow you.” 

Renley tilted her chin, “Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

“What’s your plan?” questioned Cullen. 

“I’m going to meet The Elder One. I’ll keep him distracted long enough for everyone to get to safety. As soon as you’re clear, fire an arrow into the sky. Then I’ll burry Haven and it’s tunnels with the final trebuchet.” 

Cullen nodded slowly, “That could work... but what about you? What will you do when the mountain falls?” 

“Don’t worry about me. My lucks brought me this far.” 

“Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way...” he regarded Renley briefly, then turned to address his men, “Inquisition! Through the tunnels! Let’s move!” 

The Chantry emptied out until only the four companions remained. They stood in silence. Renley wanted to say something. To tell them to retreat at the first sign of trouble. But she had to trust them. It would all play out. And if it didn’t... they knew what was at stake. 

“Let’s go down some Templars, yeah?” Sera broke the silence. 

“We’ll burry The Elder One’s army if it’s the last thing we do,” declared Dorian. 

“We are with you,” Cassandra’s resolve was a bolster to Renley’s nerves. 

She took a deep breath, “Let’s do this.” 

*** 

The path to the final trebuchet was littered with demons, Templars and Venatori. Renley’s muscles burned by the time they reached their target. Each breath of freezing air raked her throat raw. 

The trebuchet stood clear and ready at the edge of a small clearing. They were close enough to believe their mission all but accomplished, when a black dot appeared on the horizon, growing larger at a frightening pace. 

“Run!” Renley called to her companions. 

They sprinted across the clearing as the dragon descended, its mouth full of flame. It released its breath in an explosion of heat. The force threw Renley from her feet where she landed hard on her shoulder. 

She rolled onto her stomach and looked into a wall of flame. She saw Cassandra, face blurry through waves of heat. 

_ Run.  _

Then Dorian was there, pulling her away. Sera flanked them, bow at the ready. They retreated from the clearing. 

Renley breathed a sigh of relief as she regained her footing. A bead of sweat rolled down her face, a product of the intense heat radiating from the Archdemon’s flame. 

She turned to see a tall dark figure walking toward her. A nervous laugh escaped her throat as the being came into focus. 

Corypheus was grotesque. A walking nightmare. His corpselike face  horrifically disfigured. 

The Archdemon landed at her back and roared. A blast of hot, screeching breath licked Renley’s skin with a force that very nearly caused her to piss her pants. 

“Enough!” cried Corypheus, “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” 

“What?” rasped Renley, “My ears are ringing I-” 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel,” he pointed a skeletal finger at Renley. 

“I think your dragon deafened me-” 

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” 

Corypheus thrust his hand forward, summoning the anchor. It flared painfully. 

“It is your fault ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual, years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched... what you flail at rifts... I crafted to assault the very heavens.” 

The flare intensified as Corypheus flexed his fingers. The pain brought Renley to her knees. 

“And you used the anchor to undo my very work. The gall!”

Renley pointed to her ear, “Seriously, I-”

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her feet from the ground. He examined the anchor at eye level, “I once breached the fade in the name of another. To serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered  Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed-”

“Wait!” Renley’s eyes widened as she watched his mouth, trying to make out his words, “Is the part where you-”

“The anchor is permanent,”  Corypheus threw her into the trebuchet, “You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation and God it requires.” 

Renley braced her ribs and groaned. The final signal pierced the sky. Their people were clear. 

“And you,” Corypheus continued, “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” 

The volume of her voice went unregulated with her temporary deafness. She yelled at the Elder One, informing him of their situation, “Your dragon deafened me!”

They glared at each other for a beat. Then Renley turned and kicked the lever. The trebuchet hurled a stone at the mountain. A puff of white developed where the stone struck. The mountain split and a rumbled filled the air. 

Renley leapt from the trebuchet and sprinted from the clearing, eyes searching frantically for her out. Pins and needles pricked her skin as white filled her vision. A cloud of snow rushed past. Miraculously, she spotted her means of escape. She leapt, overshooting the hole and thudding into a wooden beam before landing face down in the snow.


	15. Skyhold

Renley trudged through the snow, head bowed to the blizzard. The adrenaline spike she had experienced from facing Corypheus was long gone. And what it left her with was a hot, aching body. 

She paused at the beginning of a steep incline, willing herself to move forward, trying to think of anything but the pain in her side, the exposed skin of her face rubbed raw from the wind. And the uncomfortable warmth brewing beneath her clothes. 

Her fingers fumbled at the clasps of her coat. She shrugged it from her shoulders as she neared the foot of an incline. A wave of familiarity washed over her, recognition stirring from deep within. 

“Hypothermia,” she breathed. The word was meaningless as it fell from her lips. A jumble of sounds becoming more obscure with each utterance. 

She let the coat fall from her arms as the incline steepened, saying the word over and over. 

“Hypothermia. Hype-o-thermia. Hyper-ther-mia.” 

She sank her hands in the snow, crawling to the top of the hill. She made it over the incline and straightened up, unsteady on her feet. Through watery eyes she spotted a small orange glow in the distance. Her legs burned as she stood atop the hill, removing her gloves and dropping them at her feet. She took a step toward the glow and tripped. 

“She is here!” 

The words reached her as though from the end of a long tunnel. Kneeling in the snow, mind quiet, she closed her eyes and embraced the warmth. Or at least she tried to. Hands grabbed her beneath the arms and wrenched her upright. Two people, one under each shoulder, attempted to march her away. But she couldn’t keep her footing. 

“It’s no use,” a deep voice proclaimed. 

Strong arms grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her onto a broad shoulder. She groaned as blood rushed to her eyes. The anchor glowed faintly in her hand, swaying back and forth hypnotically, lulling her into a long, much needed rest. 

*** 

Dark dreams plagued her recovery. 

Small footsteps on a wooden dock, running toward the lake. A rush of cold as she plunged into the water, sinking deeper and deeper. Murky water clouded her vision as she opened her eyes. A flash of white through the algae. A face, smooth and hairless. It opened its eyes and Renley released her breath in panic. 

_Faces don’t belong in the lake._

She swam for the surface, lungs screaming for air. 

Her eyes snapped open as she broke the surface. She sat up with a start. Pain pierced her ribs at the motion. She groaned laying back slowly and bracing her side. 

“Drink this.” 

She rolled over and her eyes fell on Leliana. Her voice was raw and rasping as she spoke, “You’re not Mother Giselle.” 

“A keen observation,” she held a steaming tankard out and Renley accepted it. 

Her fingers, cold and stiff, grasped the handle and brought the warm liquid to her lips. It was perhaps the most disgusting thing that had ever graced her tongue. 

“Ech,” her face puckered as she eyed the tankard’s thick brown contents. 

“Drink.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

Renley finished the putrid concoction and lay back on the furs, eyes glazing as she pondered their circumstances. She could hear the raised voices of the advisors arguing outside. 

“How long have we been here?” 

“A few hours,” Leliana sat forward and looked her over, “You pulled it off.” 

“Barely,” Renley scratched at a dried substance on her earlobe, “Thought I’d have permanent hearing loss from the Archdemon’s screech.” 

“You very nearly had permanent loss of limb.” 

Renley clutched the blankets about her and eased out of bed, “And my clothes? Are they another casualty of my exploits?” 

“The Mothers say your clothes were nearly frozen. They hung them before the fire.” 

“The Mothers saw me naked? How embarrassing.” 

“You have more pressing concerns,” Leliana smirked, “Our people are cold and nervous. They need their Herald to lead them to shelter.” 

Renley rose and scanned her surroundings. They were in a sizeable tent, covered on all corners with wool. A brazier held a modest fire in the middle and hanging it over it, her clothes. 

The furs slithered from the cot as she neared the brazier. The earth around it was warm. Her fingertips stung as she held them over the blaze. She lingered there, unwilling to leave the comfortable glow. 

“So,” Leliana spoke at her back, “What stands between us and Skyhold?” 

“Solas,” she shed her furs and reached for her trousers. She shivered as she slid the fire warmed fabric over her hips. 

“Why would Solas know of it?” 

“Because he’s a know it all,” Renley jested. She tucked her linen shirt into her trousers and pulled a leather jerkin over her shoulders. She turned back to the Spymaster as she fastened it, “Among other things.” 

Leliana stood and approached the brazier, “Can we trust him?” 

She chuckled her response, “Absolutely not. But at this time, he isn’t a threat.” 

A shout drew their attention. 

Renley sighed, “I suppose we should interrupt the fun." 

“If we delay any longer, we may witness a scuffle with our Commander and Seeker.” 

“Oh?” a sly smile turned the corner of her lips, “Now that you mention it, my fingers are still a bit numb.” 

“Come now,” Leliana stepped away from the flame, “You’ll want your advisors in one piece for the trials that lay ahead.” 

They ducked through a wool curtain and into what would be a dreamlike winter scene. Snowflakes the size of feathers drifted down through a windless night, layering the earth with a pristine white blanket. 

The angry voices of the advisors cut through the peaceful setting. Renley watched as they gesticulated, their features contorted with frustration. 

“A word?” Solas withdrew almost before he’d finished the question, his feet aimed for a clearing on the edge of their encampment. 

Renley touched eyes with Leliana. 

“Go,” she said, “I’ll tend to the others.” 

“Let me know who wins,” Renley left her with a smirk. 

Atop a small hill, just beyond the furthest tent, Solas warmed his hands at a brazier. Renley went to his side, turning her backside to the flame.

“They say you fought the Elder One,” stated Solas. 

“Corypheus,” replied Renley, “The mind behind the explosion of the Conclave.” 

Solas gazed into the brazier, “Did he reveal what caused the explosion?” 

“He may have,” Renley smiled wryly. She took pleasure in harboring secrets whose answers he so longed for, “I couldn’t hear a word.” 

He cut his gaze at her. 

“The Archdemon deafened me with its roar,” she explained. 

He knitted his brow and looked back to the fire. After a moment his expression relaxed, “I suppose we must find our answers another way.” 

“We won’t find any out here,” Renley rubbed her fingers together and brought them to her lips. 

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build. Grow,” the flickering brazier cast an eerie light on his features, “Skyhold.” 

Renley eyed him wearily, images from a dark dream swimming before her. 

“It lies to the north of the Frostback mountain range,” he expounded. 

“Thank you, Solas,” her voice was quiet. Contemplative. 

Silence yawned between them. 

“I had the strangest dream earlier,” said Renley slowly, “I was a child again, swimming in the lake. I dove down to the bottom, and when I opened my eyes, I saw a pale face, staring at me with black eyes.” 

“How very interesting,” Solas replied with the enthusiasm of a brick. 

“You’re familiar with dreams,” she glanced at him, “Any guesses to what it could mean?” 

“The mind is an ocean of thoughts. It could mean many things. It could mean nothing.” 

“Right,” Renley sighed, “I’ll leave you to it.” 

“As you say.” 

The advisors were still quarreling as she drew near. 

“Leliana,” Renley addressed her calmly. 

The Spymaster eyed her dryly, “Herald?” 

A subtle smirk twisted her mouth, “I’d like to borrow Scout Harding.” 

“I take it you have a plan?” 

“We’re riding north. I’m told there’s a keep there, not being used. We’ll claim it for the Inquisition.” 

“On whose word?” asked Cullen. 

“Solas,” she touched eyes with each of them, “Get some sleep. All of you. We have a long day ahead.”

*** 

Five horses stood ready at daybreak, their breath fogging on crisp morning air. Pink and orange tinged the horizon heralding good weather. 

Renley sat astride her horse, thoughts roaming as she waited for the others to find their mounts. Cassandra appeared at her stirrup. 

“Here,” she held the handle of a blade out to Renley, “You dropped it when the Archdemon attacked.” 

“No reprimands?” Renley accepted the dagger and returned it to its sheath, “For losing my weapon?” 

“I will overlook it, considering it was your first time facing a dragon.” 

“Hey,” Renley smirked, “At least I didn’t die.” 

“Let us set a higher standard in subsequent encounters.” 

*** 

Renley, Sera and Harding made their way along the mountain range. Two of Leliana’s agents accompanied them. Hooves crunched over frost bitten earth. The sky was clear but the sun was weak, ensuring a cold day and a colder night. 

“We should make camp,” suggested Harding as daylight dwindled. 

“Please,” replied one of Leliana’s agents, “I’m starving.” 

An hour later they sat around the fire, their bellies full and bodies warm. 

“We’ve almost reached the end of the mountain range,” began Harding. 

Renley nodded, “Skyhold should be close to the end.” 

“Another half day’s ride should lead us right there,” concluded Harding. 

Harding turned to the agents, “In the morning, one of you will ride back to Leliana. Give her a full report.” 

“Yes, Scout Harding.” 

“Until then,” she stood from her seat, “Get some rest. We leave at first light.” 

Renley flexed her fingers in front of the fire as the agents retired to their tents. 

“You should rest too. Exhaustion leads to mistakes in the field.” 

Renley looked up as Harding addressed her. 

“Leliana might have me murdered if I don’t get you back in one piece.” 

Renley chuckled, “Fair point.” 

Harding ducked into her tent and Renley looked around the camp site. 

She rose from her seat and walked beyond the glow of the fire. Sera faced away from camp, bow in hand, arrow nocked. She raised it as Renley approached and fired an arrow into the dark. 

“What are you shooting at?” 

Sera nocked another arrow, drawing the bow back to rest against her cheek. Renley followed the length of the arrow with her eyes, trying to work out its target, but it was pitch black beyond the fire. 

For a moment, everything was perfectly still. A pair of eyes blinked into existence and Sera released her arrow, a faint yelp disturbing the silence as the eyes disappeared. She lowered her bow and raised an eyebrow at Renley. 

They walked toward the kill, the air growing colder the further they went. The darkness around them was so complete that Renley didn’t see the bodies until they were almost under foot. Two black wolves. A single arrow sticking out of each. 

“How did you even see these?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Why did you... wait,” Renley squinted at her, “What?” 

“Look at them. They’re weird, aren’t they?” 

“They just look like wolves to me.” 

“No,” she knelt down and pulled an arrow from the nearest, “Somethings not right here.” 

She nocked the arrow as she peered into the night. Renley grasped the handle of her dagger. They stood among the corpses for a long moment, eyes peeled against an impenetrable darkness. 

A form materialized before them, so faint that Renley wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. She removed the glove from her marked hand and a flash of green lit the surrounding area. A terror demon stood before them. Wolves with glowing eyes surrounded them on all sides. 

Sera freed an arrow at the demon and the wolves lunged. Back-to-back they fought, dropping the blighted creatures as quickly as they could come. As the last fell, the demon screeched and disappeared into the snow. 

It materialized on their left, reaching toward them with long pointed fingers. Renley stabbed through its midsection as Sera rolled away sending an arrow through the demon's head. It melted away into nothing and the darkness went with it, revealing the carnage of their battle.

Sera nudged Renley, “Look.” 

Renley looked over to see Sera gazing at the sky. Thousands of stars filled Renley’s vision as she looked up. Without light pollution it seemed as though every little detail in space could be observed. A sense of wonder filled her as she beheld them. 

“Kill a demon, get the stars back,” quipped Sera. 

Renley looked at her, “You could sense them.” 

“What,” Sera tore her eyes away from the sky, “the stars?”

“The wolves. And the demon that corrupted them.” 

“Pft. No. You can’t sense demons.” 

Renley shrugged, “If you say so.” 

She looked back to the stars. A shiver rolled through her shoulders that had nothing to do with the chill. She felt a gentle tug at her jacket sleeve. 

“Come on then,” said Sera, “We’ll freeze out here.” 

They trudged through the snow and back to camp, eager for the warmth of the fire and the comfort of their bed rolls. 

*** 

Morning came with a biting frost. They broke down camp and parted with one of their number. The remaining four steered their horses north, braving the mountain pass for the last leg of their journey. 

By midday, Skyhold loomed before them, a massive fortress set high in the mountain accessible only by lift.

“Torrence,” Harding addressed the remaining agent, “Ride back to the group and lead them here.” 

“At once, Scout Harding.” 

The remaining three rode hard for Skyhold. 

They readied their weapons as the lift ascended, but the effort was wasted. The trio stepped off the lift and into a different world. Spring bloomed in the dead of winter. A gentle breeze diffused the soft scent of flowering trees throughout the courtyard. 

“How is this even here?” breathed Harding. 

“Magic?” suggested Renley. 

The castle proved empty of any major threats, save a cobweb or two. Renley found herself marveling at its architecture. She wandered through its halls long after Sera and Harding had departed. When at last she found her way outside, she came upon the advisors and Cassandra standing in a circle nearby. 

Cassandra beckoned to her. The others withdrew as Renley approached. 

"Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage,” she began, “People from every settlement in the region flocked to our ranks as we marched.” 

Renley followed her to a set of stone steps. 

“If word has reached these people, it will have reached The Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here. But this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. We now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you.” 

They crested the stairs and started up another. 

“Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creatures rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us.” 

Leliana waited for them at the top of the stairs. Their vantage provided a view of the courtyard. A crowd gathered there, looking up at the three expectantly. Renley turned away and found herself once more in the company of the Left and Right Hands of the late Divine. 

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” concluded Cassandra, “The one who has already been leading it.” 

Leliana presented Renley with a gleaming greatsword. Their eyes met over the blade. Renley grasped the golden hilt and their alliance was sealed. The Spymaster and the Inquisitor, bonded with secret.

*** 

“So, this is where it begins?” asked Cullen as he, Renley and the other advisors entered Skyold. 

“It began in a courtyard,” replied Leliana, “This is where we turn that promise into action.” 

“But what do we do?” asked Josephine, “We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark.” 

“We do have one advantage,” began Leliana, “We know what Corypheus intends to do next. When you were in Redcliffe you uncovered a plot to kill Empress Celene.” 

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause," Josephine creased her brow, "With his army...” 

“An army he’s growing," added Cullen, "Cassandra and Varric mentioned a massive force of demons.” 

“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas.” 

“I’d feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with.” 

“I know someone who can help with that,” Varric entered the hall, his eyes sweeping their surroundings, “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory so... I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.” 

Renley tried to subdue her grin, “Can’t wait to meet her.” 

“Come up to the battlements when you get a minute. Trust me. It’s complicated,” he left without further explanation. 

“Well," Josephine watched him retreat, "We stand ready to move on both of these concerns." 

“I know one thing,” smirked Leliana, “If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra’s going to kill him.” 


	16. The Champion

Renley set her feet for the ramparts, eager to meet  Varric’s ‘secret’ friend. As she rounded the corner and laid eyes on the pair, she was hopelessly unable to hide the hearts in her eyes.

Hawke was perhaps the most captivating person she’d come across in this world. Face gaunt and eyes narrow, accentuated by dark hair pulled back in heavy braids. Her essence was that of a predator, peering at you from the shadows, daring you to make a move. 

But there was more there than intimidation. The ghost of a smirk played at the corners of her lips, giving  Renley an urge to tempt her.

She approached the two having all but forgotten that  Varric was present. 

“Um... boss?”  Renley was dragged from her reverie with a nudge from  Varric . 

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke, the Inquisitor. I figure you might have some friendly advice to-”  Varric faltered as he looked between them. 

There was a long pause as Hawke and  Renley sized each other up. They stood tall, a good several feet apart, like something out of an old western. Fingers twitching to their side arms. A deadly staring contest between two gunslingers.  Varric watched the scene unfold, concern creeping into his features. 

Hawke broke the tension with a grin, “Ah, you’re alright yeah?” 

She closed the distance between them and they grasped each other's forearms in a gesture of comradery. 

“Hawke,” began  Renley , a stupid grin plastered across her face, “Big fan.” 

“The Herald of  Andraste ? A fan of me?” Hawke’s voice dripped with sarcasm. She released  Renley’s arm and bowed low, “Be it a thousand life times of-” 

Renley laughed, “Look at you, I thought I was meeting the Champion of Kirkwall, not a clown.” 

“ Woah ,” Hawke’s hand twitched to her dagger, “Call me a clown one more time.” 

Renley leaned forward ever so slightly, looking the other in the eye, “Clown.” 

Hawke grinned, “You’d dare invoke the wrath of a learned foe?” 

“Ignorance knows no bounds,” replied  Renley . 

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. 

“Did I miss something here?” questioned  Varric , “Do you two know each other?” 

“Of course, we do . T hat’s Hawke,”  Renley pushed Hawke’s shoulder lightly. 

“And this is the Inquisitor,” Hawke pushed  Renley back slightly harder. 

Varric , incredulous, watched as the shoving match escalated with Hawke placing  Renley in a head lock. 

A few bruises and a torn shirt collar later saw the end of  Varric’s last nerve, “Would you two wrap it up? I’m trying to keep this meeting on the down low! God forbid Cassandra were to-” 

Hawke looked around, “Cassandra ’ s here?” 

Renley shoulder checked her into a wooden crate nearby, “Yes!” she raised her fists in triumph. 

“That was a cheap shot!” 

“Ha! What happened to-” 

“Alright! Enough.  Andraste’s ass, I never thought I’d have to be the voice of reason. We’re here to talk about  Corypheus and the Wardens.” 

“Right,” Hawke’s demeanor grew more serious, “One thing we do know is that  Corypheus can use his connection to the  darkspawn to get to the Wardens. If they’ve disappeared, it could be happening again.” 

“ Corypheus got into their heads, messed with their minds and turned them against each other,” explained  Varric . 

“I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me,” continued Hawke, “The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the  Wardens' ranks. Since then, nothing.” 

“ Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” replied  Varric . 

“Think your friend might have some insight into all this?” asked  Renley . 

“You can ask him yourself. Told me he’d be hiding in an old smugglers cave near Crestwood.” 

“We’ll follow any lead we can get.” 

“ Corypheus is as much my responsibility as he is yours. Thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll be sure of it.” 

The playful air of moments before had vanished.  Varric studied the two with their serious faces and intimidating statures, these battle-hardened individuals who just moments before had been fighting like children, “What is __ it with you two?” 

Renley looked at him, then over his head and nodded, “Oh. Hey, Cassandra.” 

Varric and Hawke ducked and  Renley laughed placing a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, “I can’t believe you’re afraid of Cassandra.” 

Hawke grabbed her arm and twisted it, initiating a second bout of fighting. 

Varric shook his head and grabbed a bottle from a nearby crate . He took a seat on the stairs, watching the chaos unfold. 

*** 

Sometime later,  Renley made her way to the war room. Her first council as Inquisitor. She turned left at the throne and opened the door to the Ambassador’s office. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine stood from her desk and  made her way toward  Renley . Her smile faltered as she drew  near. 

“What happened?” she grasped the collar of  Renley’s shirt between her thumb and forefinger, examining it. The button had been torn clean off. 

“What’s going on here?”  Leliana entered the chamber, keen eyes darting between the two.  Renley stiffened. 

“Look at this,” Josephine replied , “The Inquisitor is disheveled.” 

Leliana looked  her over, “What’s new?” 

Josephine clucked her tongue, “Come  Leliana , look. Shirt torn, hair a mess, dirt on her sleeve.” 

The Spymaster smirked and raised a hand to  Renley’s hair, “Could this have anything to do with your meeting this afternoon?” 

Renley pushed her hand away, face growing red, “No. Well... yes. Just come on. We have a council to attend.” 

Leliana and Josephine exchanged smirks as she retreated. 

Cullen was already settled in at the war table, “Ah, there you are.” 

“Commander,”  Renley greeted him coolly. 

“Right. I’m assuming you’ve had time to meet with  Varric’s contact?” 

“Yes, tell us all about it,” said  Leliana with a  teasing smile. 

Josephine placed a hand over her mouth, covering her smirk . 

Renley shot the pair a dirty look and continued, “ Varric brought Hawke.” 

“The Champion of Kirkwall?” asked Cullen. 

“The very same.” 

“What did she say?” asked Josephine. 

They spent awhile talking tactics and moving pawns about the war table. In the end they decided to scout Crestwood and meet with Hawke’s Warden contact. In the meantime, Josephine would work out a strategy to grant them an audience with Empress  Celene . 

*** 

Major renovations were underway at  Skyhold .  The Inquisitor’s  quarters, having started out as a large empty room consisting of a single bedroll in front of a fireplace, was quickly transformed into a suite, complete with office space and sitting area. A wardrobe had been provided for her as well. Josephine’s doing she’d been told. 

Renley made her way down to the training grounds and found that Cassandra wasn’t there. An angry shout drew her attention to the forge. She hastened toward it. A nervous soldier tilted his chin to the upper level. 

She bounded up the stairs and her eyes fell on  Varric and Cassandra. 

“You knew where Hawke was all along!?” the Seeker’s ire was explosive to say the least.

“Your damned right I did!”

Renley admired  Varric’s tenacity in that moment. Even watching from the sidelines had her fight or flight activated. And she strongly leaned toward the latter. 

“You conniving little shit!” Cassandra took a swing at him. He ducked and ran to  Renley’s side. 

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” 

Cassandra stepped forward and  Renley moved herself between the two, “Stop.” 

“You’re taking his side?”

The Seeker’s glare, like steel forged in fire, elicited a knee jerk response from  Renley , “Of course, not.” 

“Why not?” asked  Varric . 

Renley back tracked, “That’s not what I meant.” 

“ Varric is-” 

“Alright!”  Renley shouted them down. Being caught between their bickering stoked a flame of irritation in her chest. 

“Why are you so upset Cassandra?” she knew the gist of it, but over the last few months she’d come to know her as calm and collected, not some enraged person chasing allies around tables. 

“We needed someone to lead the Inquisition!” 

“Ouch,” murmured  Renley . 

“ Leliana and I searched for the Hero of  Ferelden . But she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke. But she was gone too. We thought it all connected but no. It was just you,” she jabbed her finger in  Varric’s direction, “You kept her from us.” 

“The Inquisition has __ a leader,” he reasoned. 

Renley chuckled, “I don’t know  Varric . She makes a solid point.” 

“Hawke would have been at the conclave. If anyone could have saved most Holy-” 

“Ah, there it is.” 

“I was protecting my friend!” 

“ Varric is a liar Inquisitor, a snake! Even after the conclave when we needed Hawke most.  Varric kept her secret.” 

“She’s with us now,”  Varric’s voice rose with the effort of persuasion, “We’re on the same side!” 

“We all know whose side you’re on  Varric . It will never be the Inquisition’s.” 

“Hey,”  Renley cut her gaze at the Seeker, “He died fighting by  _ your _ side at  Redcliffe . Without hesitation.” 

Cassandra turned away and leaned against the banister, “I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake. Go  Varric . Just go.” 

Varric paused at the top of the stairs, “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her.”

Silence rang in his wake.  Renley stood awkwardly for a moment. Did her dismissal apply to all who were present?

“I believed,” said Cassandra softly, “He spun his story for me and I swallowed it. If I'd just explained what was at stake. But I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke. I’m such a fool.”

She sat on the bench and  Renley took a seat beside her, placing her elbow on the table between them. She sat with her in silence for a while, thinking about Cassandra’s words. She grieved for the Divine still. 

“None of this is your fault you know,” said  Renley softly. 

“I should have been more careful, I could have-” 

“Predicted the future?”  suggested Renley . 

They looked at each other for a long moment. 

“Why were the Divine’s Left and Right Hands not at the Conclave?” 

“Because we were looking-” 

“Because the Maker didn’t want you there.” 

Cassandra furrowed her brow.  Renley continued, “If you’d been at the Conclave, you’d both be dead. And who would have been there to start the Inquisition?” 

Cassandra huffed, “I’ve let anger cloud my judgement.” 

Renley stretched her arms out and leaned against the table, “Anger can be useful.” 

“If it can be controlled,” Cassandra corrected. 

“I’ve never seen you out of control.” 

“I tried to  hit Varric .” 

Renley snorted and Cassandra gave her a reproachful look. 

“Oh, come on. It’s a little funny.” 

She smiled reluctantly as  Renley chuckled. 

“Okay,” Cassandra relented, “Maybe a little.” 

*** 

Renley met  Varric in the tavern later that night. 

“So,” grumbled  Varric , “Am I  gonna be murdered in my sleep tonight?” 

Renley chuckled, “ There’s always a chance.” 

“Well in case you don’t see me tomorrow,” he raised his mug then took a sip. 

“So, where’s Hawke?” asked  Renley eagerly, “Let’s get some wicked grace going.” 

Varric laughed, “Why, so you two can destroy the tavern? Hawke left for Crestwood after your meeting.” 

“Without even saying bye?”  Renley asked, offended. 

“I still don’t understand you two . ” 

“Well, me neither... but it was magical.” 

“Oh, it was something alright.” 

Renley sipped her ale, pondering her circumstances.  Corypheus was now in the picture, and she was head of the Inquisition, and all of it had unfolded in barely a week’s time. 

“What’s on your mind boss?” 

“I was just taking it all in. Sometimes none of this feels real.” 

Varric huffed, “I’ll drink to that.” 

They sat in the tavern to the wee hours of the night, drinking and venting, becoming less and less guarded with each tankard finished until they were spilling their emotions all over each other. One encouraging the other, the ultimate drunken debriefing. 

“And you know- here's to,”  Varric downed the remainder of his ale and slammed his mug on the table before him, splashing them both with the dregs, “You know boss, you and me, and Hawke we could... we could run Kirkwall.” 

“We should be pirates. We- this is what we do. You get us a ship... I’m  gonna find the best crew. And we just go-” 

Varric wheezed, “You and Hawke on a ship together? I don’t- I want to be far... so far away from that ship.” 

They laughed for a long moment.  Renley sat back in her chair. She took a deep breath and looked about the dark empty tavern, goofy grin fading slowly as she started to realize how late it really was, “If I know one thing  Varric it’s this. Cassandra is going to kick my ass in training tomorrow.” 

“She-”  Varric clutched his stomach, doubled over in laughter, “ Andraste’s tits I wouldn’t  wanna be you.” 

Renley couldn’t be sure what time she finally got to bed. The only thing she really knew was that the morning came much, much too soon.


	17. A Romantic Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

Renley awoke to a ray of sun, stabbing her in the eye. With a groan, she rolled over, opening her eyes to the high ceiling of her bedroom. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry, both consequences from the night before. 

She reached for the pitcher of water on her night stand and drank deeply, downing the cool liquid as though she’d spent days wandering a barren desert. She replaced the pitcher and lay back into the comfort of her bed, closing her eyes and fully intending to sleep away her hangover. 

Her eyes snapped open and she ripped away her blankets, “Training!” 

As she jumped out of bed and ran to her wardrobe the room started to spin. She hastened to the balcony and leaned over, expelling the contents of her stomach onto the mountain below. She staggered back to her room and pulled on her clothes, heart racing. 

The sun was rising over the ramparts as she stumbled into the training grounds, bleary eyed and lightly disheveled. Cassandra studied her, an evil smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Renley drew her sword and faced her mentor, shivering in the chilly morning air. 

“Follow me,” ordered Cassandra. 

Just before the forge, Cassandra turned right and led Renley down a corridor she’d not yet had the opportunity to explore. A short way down a low stone passage found the two in a sizeable room. The path slanted down and gave way to a circular earthen floor, the perfect stage for a duel. Cassandra walked the length of this area and turned to face Renley. 

“Long night?” she asked, a hint of danger in her voice, or so it seemed to Renley. 

Renley eyed her wearily, Varric’s words from the night before, or perhaps more accurately, earlier that morning, echoing in her ears. 

_Andraste’s tits, I wouldn’t wanna be you..._

She exhaled, trying to will away the drink that her body had yet to process. There was no denying it. She was still drunk. And Cassandra would make her pay... for every single ounce of alcohol left in her blood. 

Renley raised her sword, “I fear that this morning will be longer.”

*** 

Drenched and shaking, bruised and sore, stone cold sober... 

Renley limped to a small wooden bench and collapsed in a heap, leaning her sword on the bench beside her. She was sure she had purged every last ounce of liquor from her body. 

She leaned over, pulling her hair away from her face and heaved. Her stomach had nothing left to give, so she retched needlessly until the episode had passed. She rested her elbows on her knees and breathed deeply. Cassandra's boots appeared before her. She raised her head and beheld the enforcer of her suffering. 

Cassandra tilted her head to the side, “Was it worth it?” 

Renley leaned against the cobblestone wall and regarded the Seeker, “Was the part where you tripped me with my own sword really necessary?”

“We cannot always choose the circumstances of our battles. We fight sick, we fight injured... we fight drunk. When it comes to training, it is all necessary.” 

Renley’s stomach growled painfully. Cassandra grabbed her under the arm pulling her to a standing position, “A good breakfast will set you right.”

As they made their way back to the courtyard Renley asked, “Have you ever been drunk, Seeker?” 

“Not for a very long time.” 

“Why not?” 

Cassandra huffed. The sun had risen over Skyhold, as had its people. 

“I’ve been busy.” 

Renley chuckled, “You’ve been busy for years now.” 

“And?” 

“Do you ever... I mean drinking has its place, but don’t you do anything but work?” 

As they entered Skyhold, Renley spotted Varric sitting before the hearth, parchment littering the table before him. He looked up as she and Cassandra passed. They made eye contact and Varric began to shake with laughter. Renley smiled ruefully, mouthing a swear word as they approached the passage to the dining hall. 

Cassandra fixed Renley with a stern look as they sat at the end of a long wooden table, “There is an ancient Tevinter magister attempting to become a god and kill us all, and you ask if I do anything but work?” 

“Okay. Fair.” 

A young man hurried over to their table and bowed. Renley looked at him. The man continued to bow. She looked to Cassandra in confusion. Cassandra gestured to the man with a nod of her head. 

Renley cleared her throat, “Um, how- how do you do?” 

The man snapped to attention, “Inquisitor. Seeker. How may I serve you?” 

Renley felt concern. Was this normal? 

“We just want breakfast.” 

“Right away, ser,” he hurried from their table and returned moments later with food and drink. He bowed once more, then hastened away to a far corner of the room, stealing glances at them every so often. 

“Was that some sort of social custom I’m unaware of?” 

“No one really knows what is customary when addressing the Inquisitor, as the last Inquisition was so long ago.” 

“Perhaps you could tell them then. Beat the Inquisitor with blunt objects whenever they make a mistake.” 

Cassandra smirked, “You wanted to learn to wield a sword. You won’t gain proficiency without a few bruises."

Renley looked her in the eye, her bravado returning as the food settled on her stomach, “One day I’ll beat you in a duel. Just you wait.” 

The Seeker’s smirk widened to a lethal smile, “We will see.”

*** 

A messenger found Renley shortly after breakfast. 

“Inquisitor, the lady Ambassador would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.” 

After a quick wash up and a change of clothes, Renley made her way down to Josephine’s office, where she found her and Leliana in the midst of a discussion. 

“And what else did Lady Forsythia say?” Josephine’s voice was sharp with irritation. 

“That she’d rather drown herself than help the Inquisition,” replied Leliana. 

“Anything else?” 

The Spymaster’s mouth twisted with amusement, “She said she’d have us ‘flogged’ alive if we allied with her brother.” 

Josephine sighed and set down her quill, “That does sound like her.” 

“Cheer up Josie. We at least have her attention.” 

“You always do find the brighter side of things.”

The two women looked up as Renley made her entrance. 

“Inquisitor,” Leliana gave her a once over, “You look as though you’ve had a rough morning.” 

Renley smiled, “Thats why you’re the Spymaster. Nothing gets past you.” 

“Are your accommodations not satisfactory?” Josephine voiced her concern. 

“They are more than fine, thank you. No, I think the lesson of today is... don’t go to training when you’re still drunk from the night before.” 

Leliana smiled, “Of all the mornings, you chose the one after Cassandra discovered Varric had brought Hawke to Skyhold?”

Renley spread her arms wide, “It’s all related. I assure you.” 

Leliana made for the door, stopping at Renley’s side along the way, “Come find me in my office tonight. I’ve some findings I’d like to discuss with you.” 

Renley turned back to the Ambassador, “You sent for me?”

“Did I?” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

“My apologies. So many new issues have come across my desk this morning. I’m sure I’ll think of it soon,” she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. 

“Necesitas ayuda ?” asked Renley with a small smile. 

Josephine eyed her in amusement, “Quizas podrias hablar mas Antivan. Me divierte.” 

“Okay, wait. I know ‘quizas’ is perhaps.” 

Her smile widened, “Thank you for your offer, Inquisitor. But I have things under control.”

 _"Perhaps_ talking through your work with me would jog your memory of what it was you summoned me for.” 

“I do miss my staff from the Embassy in Antiva. It was always useful to discuss the days visitors with them.” 

Renley raised her arm to the door, inviting Josephine to take a break, “Vamos.” 

*** 

They made their way out onto the balcony, the midday sun providing a welcoming warmth. Renley listened as the Ambassador vented, throwing out odd comments where appropriate.

Josephine was very charming. Her way with words was made, if possible, even more endearing by her Antivan accent. 

“- _right_ on the parlor floor. In front of everyone at the soiree! Who does such a thing in front of their guests?” 

Renley laughed, “An absolute madman.” 

Josephine shook her head and smiled, “You humor me. But tell me, if you don’t mind me asking...” 

“Ask me anything. I’m an open book. Excluding, you know, all of things I don’t remember about myself.” 

“You still remember nothing?” 

“I remember my parents. Their faces at least. I remember...” _what?_ She could recall the map of Earth and various other things about it. This at least kept her believing her world had been real. That and the vague memories from her youth. 

“I remember running through the woods as a child with my friends. And coming home, knowing my mom was cooking because the house would smell like,” she paused, looking out over the mountain pass. 

“Perhaps, we could find your parents? If you could describe them-” 

“Quizas,” Renley smiled softly at Josephine, “My parents are long gone now.” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” 

“Don’t be,” Renley straightened and faced her, “That’s long passed.” 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Renley continued “Besides, any memories I might’ve been able to recover were probably lost this morning in training.” 

Josephine rolled her eyes and relented a small smile, “You do that often. Diffuse difficult discussions with humor.” 

Renley raised her eyebrows, “You got me there. Maybe I was a jester before the conclave. Wouldn’t you all feel silly, appointing a fool as Inquisitor.”

“It would be tragic indeed. However, it could prove useful. You could distract our enemies with mischief while our agents take them out from the shadows.”

“You mean that’s not what we’ve been doing?” 

They shared a laugh and Josephine looked at her confidant, her eyes darting ever so briefly to her lips. It didn’t escape Renley’s notice. Panicking internally, she looked at the suns position in the sky, trying to trigger the script. 

“Oh, goodness. Have we been here an hour already?” asked Josephine. 

Renley smiled kindly, “It went by so quick.” 

“You’re far too polite. I didn’t intend to go on for so long. You must think me quite the gossip.” 

“I think you’re charming,” the words had escaped before Renley could stop them. She felt as though her insides had frozen. Had she always had such a big mouth? 

“Goodness,” the Ambassador’s cheeks reddened, “I’m... well. I’m glad I haven’t wasted your day. Well, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time already.” 

“I’ll walk you out. I should go see our Spymaster.” 

They reached the threshold of the Great Hall, the ambient sounds of idle chatter and echoing footsteps replacing the awkward silence from moments before. 

Josephine bid her farewell, “Until next time, Your Worship.” 

She watched as the Ambassador withdrew to her office. 

“Your Worship,” she murmured, “I’ll never get used to that.” 

With her nerves beginning to settle, she turned, only to find herself face to face with Leliana. 

Renley exclaimed, “You scared the shit out of me, what are you doing?” 

“Come,” replied Leliana with a dangerous glint in her eye, “Let us talk.”

*** 

Renley found herself in the Spymaster's office, standing awkwardly near a large black raven. Leliana pulled a bottle of brown liquor from her desk and poured two glasses, offering one to Renley. She stared at it, recalling the mornings events in vivid detail. Her stomach squirmed. 

Leliana smirked and set the drink on her desk. 

“So, what are these findings we have to discuss,” Renley asked sarcastically. 

“I noticed you’ve paid Lady Montilyet-” 

“Okay. Stop,” Renley eyed her seriously, “Not you.” 

“Pardon?” 

“It freaks me out when you say things too on script.” 

“Too on script?” 

“And why does it matter anyway? I paid her one compliment. One. Like five seconds ago.” 

“You paid her a compliment?” she fixed Renley with a teasing stare. 

Renley hesitated, eyeing her skeptically. 

“You’ve paid her quite a few _visits_. More so than your other advisors.” 

“I visit you all the time,” countered Renley. 

Leliana folded her arms, “That’s not the same.” 

“Why?” 

“An entanglement with our Ambassador seems most unwise.” 

Renley gawked at her, “What if I was entangled with our Commander?” 

Leliana snorted, “Are you?” 

_“No.”_

“Are you even interested in men?” she continued her prodding, voice thick with amusement. 

“Are you?” 

“This isn’t about me.” 

“Maybe it should be.” 

“Stop doing that.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Deflecting.” 

Renley sighed, “Look, I get it. I know your speech. I know how this...” she brought her hand to her forehead, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this until now.” 

“Think of what?” 

“The House of Repose. There’s a long-standing contract against the Montilyets.” 

“The assassins league?” her eyes narrowed, “Why haven’t we caught wind of this?” 

“It doesn’t trigger until Josephine tries to...” Tries to what? “I don't remember the details. We could send agents to retrieve the contract, so that nothing comes of it.” 

Leliana considered a moment, “I will look into this. How could you not tell me this earlier?” 

“No harm comes to her. She’s safe with the Inquisition. It was more of a minor detail.” 

“I suppose we have been dealing with more immediate dangers.” 

They stood in silence for a time. Renley relented and took a glass from the desk, the brown liquid fighting away the chill of the drafty tower. 

“Do you think we’ve stayed close enough to the script?” asked Leliana. 

“At this point, I think so,” she looked up from her glass, “From here on in we just have to make it work.” 

There was another brief pause, then Renley continued, “Once we take care of things at the Winter Palace and fix the Wardens, It'll be smooth sailing... or so to speak. And the Winter Palace is where we’ll get our ace.”

“Our ace?” 

“Like... our secret weapon.” 

“And what will that be?” Leliana sipped her drink. 

“Not what,” she smirked her response, “Who.” 

“I’m doubtful that anything you would reveal could surprise me.” 

“I guess we’ll see,” Renley hid her smile in her glass. 

Leliana’s eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued, “Hawke?” 

Renley scoffed, “That was a poor guess.” 

“The Hero of Ferelden?” 

“No.” 

It seemed to Renley that hers wasn’t the response Leliana had been hoping for. 

“What were they like?” she studied the Spymaster, her own curiosity stirred, “The Hero of Ferelden?” 

“She is always in my thoughts,” Leliana began wistfully, “Even when we’re... why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You and the Hero of Ferelden,” Renley smiled, her eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

“Shouldn’t you have known that?” 

She shrugged, “There were a lot of different possibilities.” 

“Such as?” 

Renley pondered how best to explain her meaning. After a long pause, she explained. 

“Imagine the books are magic. They give you options to start and each choice you make alters the story slightly. Just little details. Like in Origins, the Fifth Blight still happens, Loghain is still a jerk and you kill the Archdemon in the end. But you could choose to be a dwarf, an elf, a human. You could choose to be male or female. You made the Hero who you wanted and experienced the story from their point of view. The book would alter itself to reflect your choices.” 

“Bizarre...” 

“I suppose it is. But I didn’t know you and the Hero were together because, the Hero might have romanced Allistair or-” 

“Allistair? The hero might have been with _Allistair_ over _me_?” 

Renley placed a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter, “Well yeah, that’s an option-” 

“But Allistair is so...” 

“Charming, goofy, handsome? I know. And if you romance Allistair you could convince him to become king of Ferelden and your Hero would be queen.” 

Leliana stared at her, dumbstruck. Renley sat in silence while she processed. 

“Who did you choose,” asked Leliana. 

Renley stiffened, “What?” 

“Who did you choose? To romance, or however you put it.”

“That’s personal.” 

“Personal? You’ve read all about me during the Fifth Blight, you know what I’m supposed to say before I say it but that’s too personal?” 

She felt her face grow hot beneath the Spymaster’s hawk like gaze. 

A wicked smile turned the corner of her lips, “You romanced me, didn’t you?” 

Renley placed a hand over her eyes and took a deep shaky breath, “Why is this happening?” 

“You romanced me,” Leliana placed a hand on her arm and Renley recoiled, spilling her drink in the process. 

Leliana laughed, taking another step toward her, “You thought-” 

“Okay! We are _done_ for the night,” Renley, now beet red, made her escape, leaving Leliana to delight in her new discovery, undoubtedly coming up with one thousand new ways to torment her. 


	18. Parental Guidance

The time had come to depart for Crestwood and, in Renley’s opinion, it couldn’t come soon enough. Between Leliana’s teasing and Josephine’s stolen glances, the atmosphere had been awkward to say the least. Throw Renley’s ever increasing nerves in the mix and it made for a fairly inappropriate work environment. At war councils in particular...

As the Commander droned on about the outcome of some intervention in the Hinterlands, it became apparent to Renley that the other three of them weren’t listening. Even a little. 

She glanced up from the map of  Thedas to see the Ambassador’s eyes dart quickly back to her notes, the faintest hint of pink in her cheeks. Renley looked quickly away only to see their Spymaster observing the incident with amusement. 

Renley placed her elbows on the war table, burying her face in her hands. 

“Something wrong, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen. 

“No.” She straightened and cleared her throat. “Sorry, Commander. Please, continue.” 

Renley kept her gaze fixed to the map for the remainder of the council, feeling as though the women’s eyes would burn holes through her.

At long last, the Commander’s briefing came to an end. Renley touched eyes briefly with each of her advisors. “Any other business to bring to the table?” 

How very different they all seemed in that moment. Leliana’s ice blue eyes were as cold and teasing as ever. Josephine’s expression was marked with strife, the cause of which drove Renley to clumsiness. Cullen was politely oblivious to the whole affair. 

“Council dismissed.” 

They exited the war room in silence. As they reached the Ambassador’s office, Josephine turned to Renley. “Safe travels on your journey to Crestwood, Inquisitor.” 

“Thank you-” the next word that left Renley’s mouth was unintelligible. Perhaps it was a mixture between lady and ambassador? 

Renley and Leliana made their way to the Great Hall. The latter turned to her with poorly suppressed giggles. “What was that?”

Renley pinched the bridge of her nose, smiling through her  embarrassment . “If I knew, perhaps I could have prevented it.”

Leliana placed a hand on Renley’s arm as they neared the Inquisitor’s throne. “I can teach you to-”

Renley narrowed her eyes and jerked her arm away. “And how would Ursa feel about that?”

“Me taking the Inquisitor under my wing?” She folded her arms. “Proud and amused I’d expect.” 

Renley sat heavily on the throne, resting her chin in her hand. Leliana took a step back to study the result. “It suits you.” 

“It feels weird.” She  straightened and looked about the hall. 

“I don’t think it’s the throne.”

“You’re calling me weird now? How original,” Renley rose from her throne and together they walked the length of the hall. 

As they reached the threshold, they paused to look out over the preparations being made for the departure to Crestwood.

“This will be your first venture without Cassandra,” stated Leliana. 

“Does that worry you?” 

“I’ll confess, I do feel as though your party could be more...” 

“Cassandra-y?” 

“Established.” 

Renley huffed, “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’ve chosen the best people for what we’re setting out to do.” 

“Just consider.” Leliana eyed the other carefully. “Someone like Cassandra or Vivienne...they’d bring a sense of-” 

“Oh, I get it.” Renley grinned. “You want me to bring a mom-friend.” 

“A mom-friend?” Her brow knitted, the unfamiliar phrase prodding her carefully constructed demeanor.

“Someone to put everyone in line. Keep us on task. Mom-friend.” 

They eyed one another for a long moment. It was the Spymaster’s job to conceal, but Renley had learned a thing or two in their time together. The hints were quiet, but they were there. Still, perhaps she only saw what the other allowed her to. Whatever the case, the familiarity between them bloomed with every exchange. 

An almost imperceptible twinkle lit Leliana’s eye. “I’m not sure what I expected.”

Renley’s grin grew crooked. “I’ll leave you to think on it.” She withdrew from  Skyhold’s shadow, feet set for the courtyard. 

“Renley.”

Her name was a word she’d grown unaccustomed to hearing. It was so rare in fact, that its usage felt intimate. She turned to the Spymaster, birds whirring in her stomach. 

The ghost of a smirk played at Leliana’s lips. Renley braced for a provocation. They’d been endless since the unfortunate revelation on romances. Leliana proved merciful, though it was plain she savored in the possibility. 

“Stay out of trouble.” 

*** 

_It’s raining in Crestwood. What a surprise._

Renley dismounted her horse when they arrived to the Inquisition camp and made for Scout Harding, boots squelching in the mud. 

“Good to see you safe, Inquisitor.” 

“And you, Scout Harding,” Renley ran her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it back from her face, “Let’s walk.” 

They walked over to a low stone wall and looked out over the lake. A green disruption haunted the horizon. Clearly visible even through the downpour, the affected spot of lake gurgled and surged, like a potion in an apothecary’s cauldron. Once they were well away from any eavesdroppers, Harding turned to Renley. 

“So, I’m guessing you don’t need a full report?” 

“Humor me.” 

“Crestwood was the site of a flood, ten years ago during the blight,” Harding paused and gestured to the lake, “That’s not the only rift in the area but after it appeared, corpses started walking out of the lake. You’ll have to fight through them to get to the cave where Hawke’s Grey Warden friend is hiding.” 

“Thank you, Harding. Is there anything I can do for _you?_ ” 

“Get me out of this rain, Inquisitor,” replied Harding with a small smile, “I’ve had enough for a lifetime.” 

Renley smiled and looked at the rift, “Give me a day or two and I’ll give you clear skies.” 

Harding raised an eyebrow at her, “Why do I get the feeling you’re serious about that?” 

Renley turned and headed back along the path to her companions, holding two fingers in the air, “Two days, Harding!” 

Blackwall, Varric and Dorian waited for her return, the latter looking somewhat deflated and more than a little grumpy. 

“So, what’s the plan, boss?” asked Varric. 

“Yes, _do_ tell us. And perhaps while you’re at it you can explain why we came _here_ , to the middle of a _monsoon_ ,” added Dorian. 

Blackwall exhaled sharply through his nose and looked down, trying to hide his amusement. 

“Let’s go,” Renley addressed her companions, “I need to see a man about a lake.” 

They made their way toward the village in the unrelenting rain. As they approached the cross roads they came across their first undead. Dorian, with a twirl of his staff, took down two of the corpses with a blinding flash of electricity. Varric finished the other with a bolt from Bianca. Blackwall and Renley didn’t need to so much as reach for their weapons. 

“Back to the village miss. The roads aren’t safe here.” 

The companions approached two men dressed in Warden armor, as a young woman retreated through the rain. 

“The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid, Inquisitor.” 

“Anytime,” replied Renley. 

“What are you doing in Crestwood?” asked Blackwall. 

“A Warden named Alistair is wanted for questioning.” 

Renley, who had already set her feet for the village, stopped dead in her tracks. _Alistair!?_ A wave of excitement washed over her, but was quickly replaced with a sense of dread. She thought of Here Lies the Abyss... of the Nightmare... of the choice... 

“We heard he passed through here but the villagers new nothing. They have troubles enough. If the Inquisition can help, I beg you to do what you can. The villagers have already lost too many.” 

They left the Wardens at the crossroads and continued on their way. As they approached the village, the young woman from earlier spoke to them. She was an elf with a dagger on her hip and determination in her eyes. 

“Did you see how the Grey Wardens saved me from those corpses? They’re amazing. I’m going to see if they’re looking for recruits.” 

_You’ll be turned into an abomination if you do_ , “The Wardens have a lot going on right now. Why don’t you join the Inquisition instead?” 

“Oh, Maker. You’re the Inquisitor!” 

“The very same. You have a position with us, if you feel that suits you.” 

“Um, but the Wardens always have a lot going on, right? They’re heroes. They saved me from those demons, Your Worship.” 

“Once we’ve finished our... investigation with the Wardens, you can leave to join them if you still wish.” 

“The Wardens aren’t going anywhere. Perhaps joining the Inquisition will give you a leg up for when you’re able to join,” added Blackwall. 

After a moment's consideration, she relented, “Yes. I’ll do it.” 

“Good,” said Renley, “Head down the road and find our camp. Report to Scout Harding.” 

“Yes, ser,” she saluted Renley and hurried off into the rain. 

A little further into the village, they came upon a sizeable house with a large white and yellow symbol painted on the road-facing wall. And conveniently enough, the house had a sign by the door that read ‘Mayor’s House’. Renley knocked on the door. 

“Enter,” a voice called. _No stranger danger here..._

They entered the home to find a pale, tired looking man warming himself by the fireplace. His eyes widened as he turned to greet his visitors, “The Inquisitor? Mayor Dedrick of Crestwood village. At your service. Despite everything. Are you... here to stop the undead?” 

“I am. And I’m going to cut to the chase. We need to drain the lake.” 

The mayor’s eyes, if possible, widened further, “Drain the- there must be some other way!” 

Renley folded her arms, giving the Mayor a stern look. 

“You’d have to evict the bandits in the old fort to use the dam. I can’t ask you to risk your life.” 

“You’re too kind mayor. We’ll be fine. Really.” 

He looked over Renley and her companions. Blackwall was standing strong and tall, greatsword resting at his back. Then there was Dorian, mage staff sparking menacingly with residual electricity, still dashing as ever despite the rain having deconstructed his mustache. And Varric, who had an intriguing smolder in his eyes that could level even the toughest among their ranks. 

The mayor sighed, “Then I have no choice,” he walked over to his desk and retrieved a large iron key, “This unlocks the gate to the dam controls past the fort.” 

Renley pocketed it, “Thank you, Mayor. We’ll take care of that rift, get rid of the corpses and... I expect I’ll see you soon.” 

As they neared the door, the mayor called out to them, “Inquisitor... I would not linger there.” 

She gave the Mayor one last look, pitying the man and trying her hardest not to think of the decisions to come. 

*** 

They fought their way through Caer Bronach, taking on wave after wave of bandits and highway men. Renley had known that Blackwall was formidable with a sword, but what she wasn’t prepared for was Dorian. He was capable of massive amounts of damage, bringing down storms of lightning onto multiple targets. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed this at Redcliffe. Perhaps the dark future effected his mana. Or perhaps being outside in the elements made them easier to harness. Renley’s knowledge of the arcane was limited to say the least. 

As they fought, she flanked a bandit who was approaching Blackwall. She dropped him with a swing of her sword and Dorian called to her. 

“Stop attacking my minions!” 

“Wha-” she looked down at the bandit she’d just stabbed and watched in horror as he rose once more. With lifeless eyes and eerily pale skin, the dead bandit advanced on the enemy. Renley made a noise of disgust and rejoined the fight, keeping an eye out for enemies with a subtle aura of purple. 

At last, they’d fought their way to the top. Four bandits remained, but one look told Renley that these weren’t your average highway men. The fight was a tough one. And for the largest of these bandits, even five bolts from Bianaca weren’t enough to take him down. But everyone has their limits. Blackwall struck the killing blow, skewering the leader with his greatsword. The man dropped to his knees, and Blackwall placed a foot on his shoulder, pushing him back so that he slid from the sword and crumbled to the ground. 

“It’d be a shame to let this place go empty,” said Blackwall, “The Inquisition could make good use of it.” He rotated his sword, utilizing the rain to wash away the bandit's blood. 

Renley exhaled, “We’ll send word to our scouts,” she sheathed her swords, pushing her hair back from her face again, “But first, let’s go take care of that rift.” 

As they crossed the bridge to the dam controls, Renley was beginning to feel as though she were drowning. No part of her was dry anymore. Not a single article of clothing on her body had been spared. It even felt like there was water in her ears. Throwing open the gates to the controls, she jogged the remainder of the way, eager for even a brief respite from the weather. 

“The Rusted Horn,” Varric read the sign above the door, “Who puts dam controls in a tavern?” 

Renley chuckled. 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and they’ll have controls for the weather as well,” replied Dorian. 

Strange sounds met their ears as they crossed the threshold. 

“Sounds as though someone's canoodling,” observed Dorian. 

Wet footsteps echoed in the short stone hallway, and in Renley’s mind, should have more than announced their presence. As they rounded the corner, they found a young couple, naked and entangled on a bear skin rug. Renley clapped a hand over her eyes and turned around, running directly into Blackwall. The young woman gasped as she saw them. 

“Don’t mind us,” quipped Dorian, “Just passing by.” 

Renley turned back around, eyes still closed. _This was not supposed to be a rated R moment._

“The Inquisitor!” exclaimed the young man, “We didn’t know you were here, ser. Please don’t tell anyone!” 

Renley chuckled, “Relax, kid. Just... get dressed. And stay that way. At least until I’m gone.” 

She moved past them and to the controls. A large wooden wheel stood in the middle of a small room at the back of the tavern. It took all four of them to operate it. After several labor-intensive turns of the wheel, the forceful sound of rushing water could be heard and the companions took a moment to breathe. Renley rubbed her eyes as Varric rung out his shirt. Dorian twisted the ends of his mustache around his finger, eyes glazed over. They were all exhausted. And no wonder, clearing out Caer Bronach had been no small task. But there was one thing Renley was sure of, and that’s that she was sick and tired of all the god damn rain. 

*** 

The companions made their way through the ruins of Old Crestwood. The sight of decrepit buildings and decomposed corpses was bad enough, but the smell... the smell of decay hung heavy in the air. 

“This place just gets worse and worse,” said Blackwall. 

“No arguments there,” replied Renley. 

They hurried through the derelict village and headed into the caves without hesitation. It was dark and cool. Renley began to shiver as they advanced, her wet clothes providing little shelter from the cold. An orange glow came into existence next to her, and she looked over to see Blackwall holding a torch. 

“Here you are, Inquisitor,” he handed it to her and Renley held it close, basking in its warmth. 

“Where’s mine, Blackwall?” asked Dorian. 

“You’re a mage. Make it with your hands.” 

“ _I’m_ not a mage,” replied Varric. 

Blackwall sighed. The four of them advanced deeper into the cave. It was full of corpses. Lucky for them, these corpses went down with a single stab to the chest. Renley wasn’t too worried about them, but they _were_ very creepy. And sad. These corpses were people, victims of the blight, drowned by their Mayor. And what to do about the Mayor? If things stayed on script, his life would be in Renley’s hands. 

_When faced with a cause greater than ourselves, we must make difficult decisions..._

But what cause? The wrath of the townspeople? Renley looked around the corpse strewn cave. _The Mayor made a difficult decision... was it the right one?_

A green glow in the distance caught Renley’s eye, “Stand ready,” she warned the others. 

The rift spawned demons as they approached. Renley and Blackwall charged in, swords barred as Varric and Dorian took up positions around the edge. The demons were tough, but the companions were tougher. Renley and Blackwall fought back-to-back as the other two kept them from getting swarmed. As the rift began to weaken, Renley left Blackwall’s side to finish off a nearby wraith. As its form faded away, she turned back to Blackwall. Blackwall turned back to her and as she watched, a terror demon shot up from the floor behind him. 

Renley pointed her dagger and called to him, “Dad!” 

Blackwall, who looked as though he were in the process of turning to face the demon, paused up on hearing Renley’s warning, “ _Dad?_ ” 

The demon hit him square in the stomach knocking him onto his back several feet away. A bolt from Bianca knocked the demon back to the fade, and Renley turned to the rift raising her anchor and closing it. She rushed over to Blackwall who groaned as she approached. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking him over for injuries. She helped him into a sitting position as Varric and Dorian approached. 

“I’ve had worse,” Blackwall placed a hand on his side, massaging his ribs, “For instance. When you called me dad? _That_ definitely hurt worse.” 

Varric began to chuckle, “You did what?” 

Dorian threw his head back and laughed. 

Renley pinched the bridge of her nose, laughing in part from embarrassment. 

“I’m not old enough to be your dad!” Blackwall smiled sheepishly as Renley helped him to his feet, “Am I? Maker, you're going to give me a complex.” 

The four made their way through the remainder of the cave and when they exited, to everyone’s delight, the rain was gone and the sun was out. They spent a moment on the grassy knoll, basking in the warmth and shaking the water from various places of their person. 

Renley took a deep breath, “Let’s get back to camp. I need out of these wet fucking clothes.” 

“You know, now that there’s not a torrent of rain upon us, Crestwood is kind of charming,” mused Dorian. 

“I know one thing,” began Blackwall, “I need a hot meal and a mug of ale.” 

“Let’s get going then,” said Renley. 

“Yeah, come on, dad,” Varric called to Blackwall. 

Dorian placed an arm around Blackwall’s shoulders, “So how does it feel to be a father? And of the Inquisitor no less. You must be proud.” 

Renley placed a hand on her forehead, “I am so sorry.” 

They made their way back to camp beneath blue skies, looking forward to full bellies, dry clothes, and a well-deserved rest. 


	19. An Old Friend

It was the dawn of a new day in Crestwood. The sun was shining, the weather mild, and the Inquisition’s flag flew high and proud over Caer  Bronach . The people of Crestwood didn’t seem to mind, or so it seemed to Renley. If anything, they were just glad to finally be rid of the nightmarish corpses that had plagued them for so long. 

The companions awoke in good spirits. With dry clothes and high hopes, they set their feet for the rogue Wardens lair. Pleasant sights graced their journey. The rain had left everything blooming in vivid color. Lake winds rolled through the plains, giving the illusion of a gentle sea of grass, its tide breaking at the steep rocky cliffs set high in the distance. If one wasn’t careful navigating this calming green illusion, they might find themselves walking right over one of these rocky cliffs, for the grass didn’t stop short of the edge. Unsuspecting travelers could be lured to their demise, stepping into a freefall of death. 

The Wardens cave was easy to miss. Were it not for the flash of red on a crude wooden sign, they might have walked right past it, none the  wiser. Hawke lingered a short distance into the cave and Renley found herself again admiring the Champion. She was the antithesis of the generic Hawke of Dragon Age: II. Her dark eyes like honey when shone in the light of the sun, long black hair pulled back in heavy braids that flowed down and over her shoulders. 

Hawke slapped Renley’s shoulder, jarring her back to reality, “Bout time you made it.”

“Sorry, we had to fix the weather.”

Varric stepped between them, “Alright you two, let’s focus.”

Renley and Hawke exchanged mischievous glances as they entered the cave. They arrived at a door, the same wooden sign adorning its entrance. A skull, eyes covered with a stripe of red paint. Renley entered first and was met with the point of a sword. Her eyes traveled its length and up the wielders arm. Alistair, handsome as she’d hoped he’d be, but maybe not quite so goofy. 

“It’s just us,” drawled Hawke squeezing around Renley to face him, “I’ve brought the Inquisitor.”

Renley tried to contain her smile as they gathered in the cave. 

“Wait,” began Alistair as he looked over her companions, “You have a Grey Warden with you.”

“Warden Blackwall.”

“You’re Blackwall?” Alistair spoke with a hint of excitement in his voice, “Duncan- my mentor- spoke of you.”

“Duncan. Of course. Good man.”

_ Good save, Blackwall. _

“I’m Alistair. It’s an honor to meet all of you. I wish it were someplace nicer.”

Alistair still had a boyish charm about him, but something was different. Perhaps it was just age, a lot could change in ten years after all. Whether he was hardened remained to be seen, but Renley couldn’t help but look upon him with pride and admiration. 

They spent a while in the cave, talking of Corypheus and the calling. Alistair briefed them on the situation unfolding in the Western Approach, telling them of Warden-Commander Clarel and the actions that led to his exile. As the briefing came to an end, the group collectively turned to look at Renley. 

Renley looked back at them, arms folded.  _ What do  _ _ they...? _ _ Oh, right, _ “We’re with you, Alistair.”

“Good. I wasn’t looking forward to facing the full might of the Orlesian Warden mages on my own.”

Renley replied as the six of them started for the exit, “You could just do what we do and wander around aimlessly until something works out,”

Alistair huffed, “This is who you’ve brought to help me Hawke? An  _ aimless _ wanderer?”

Renley squinted as they approached the exit, the cool colors and dim lighting replaced with warmth and sun. She grunted as a strong arm fell heavily across her shoulders. 

“Not just an aimless wanderer. An aimless  _ Inquisitor _ ,” Hawke squeezed her arm around Renley’s head, laughing as Renley tried with little success to detangle herself from the vice like grip. 

“Aren’t you coming, Alistair?” Renley turned to him as they walked out into the open. Alistair lingered at the mouth of the cave, shrouded in shadow. 

“I’d best stay out of sight.”

“Stay out of sight at our fortress. It’s just a few miles away.”

“Come on, Alistair,” added Hawke, “You’ll be as safe with us as you will in this cave.”

So, the six of them braved the swirling grass seas, marching for Caer Bronach. Hawke and Varric bantered like old friends, and Renley hung on to their every word, a silent admirer reveling in their idle conversation. That is, until she overheard the conversation with Blackwall and Alistair. 

“Tell me more of your days with Duncan, Blackwall,” Alistair asked much as child asking grandpa about his glory days might. 

“Ah, yes,” began Blackwall, “He was a good man, Duncan.”

“Come on, there must be a good story or two,” Alistair chuckled, “Like the time with the goat and the rug?” 

“I-”

Renley cringed. As much as she longed to hear that story, she couldn’t leave Blackwall to flounder. Luckily for her, a group of highway men appeared on the horizon looking mean and ragged. 

“Eyes up!” she called back. 

The highway men advanced and the battle was on. Renley was sure they were no match for the six of them, but their numbers were more than she’d originally suspected. There must have been twenty. Dorian and Varric took care of the archers as the other four contended with the swordsmen. But this group was crafty, a band of dirty fighting rogues, and one massive dual wielder who picked Blackwall out of the group as his equal. 

So, then there were three. Renley, Hawke and Alistair stood their ground cutting through the enemy with skill and precision. Alistair was a battle hardened brute, slinging men about and in one instance, chopping off a leg with a single swing of his sword. Hawke had the prowess of, well... a hawk as she navigated the battle field, picking off foes before they’d even taken note of her presence. 

“Another one for me! How many have you got, Hawke!?” called Varric. 

“Duck!”

Renley looked to the source of the voice as she pulled her sword from the ribs of an enemy. She bent down just in time for Hawke to roll over her back and pirouette into a bandit, sinking her dagger deep into his shoulder. She looked at Renley as she wiped the blood from her dagger in the crook of her arm. 

“Three!” Hawke called to Varric. 

“Show off,” mumbled Renley with a smirk. 

Hawke laughed as the remainder of the group gathered around.

“What’s your count?” Hawke asked as Varric approached. 

“Four.”

“Damn.”

“Just face it. Your daggers will never be as quick as Bianca.”

“I got six,” added Dorian. 

“Magic doesn’t count,” the group chanted at him. 

“Hmph.”

The remainder of the journey continued without incidence. And once back at Caer Bronach, a raucous game of Wicked Grace ensued. It was an absolute mess of cheaters. Hawke caught Renley’s eye during the first round, sealing an ‘alliance’ that was actually a front for Hawke and Varric’s preexisting one. But little did Hawke know that Renley and Dorian’s alliance had begun when she caught him stacking the deck, well before the game began. Alistair got caught when a card fell out of his sleeve as he was reaching for his drink, and Blackwall used this distraction to thieve the remainder of the good liquor. 

It was several rounds later when Renley shuffled up the stairs to the very top of the Caer, hoping for a brief respite from the noise and the drink. A cool breeze tousled her hair, the moon peeked in and out of dark clouds, and all was calm in Crestwood. 

“You’re as bad at cheating as you are fighting.”

Renley turned to see Hawke cresting the stairs. She made her way over and leaned against the low stone wall facing Renley. 

“It’s hard to cheat when _ everyone _ is cheating,” Renley replied. 

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. The sounds of soldiers unwinding from the day floated up the stairs. A dull murmur, a random shout, an echo of footsteps. They stood in silence a while, looking up at the Inquisition flag swaying gently in the breeze. 

“You don’t really seem like the type,” mused Hawke.

Renley snorted, “The type for what, exactly?”

Hawke smiled, “Come on, you know. Your  _ worship _ , your  _ grace _ ,  _ Inquisitor _ . I mean everyone has their serious side but-”

“Make no mistake, Hawke. I am  _ very _ serious,” Renley replied with a grave expression. 

“Seriously stupid,” Hawke pushed her shoulder.

“Hey, that’s  _ Inquisitor _ stupid to you. And besides, did you know they wanted you to be Inquisitor?”

Hawke snorted, “ _ Me? _ ”

“Yeah! But no,” Renley spread her hands wide, “you just  _ had _ to leave it all to me.”

“I’m starting to worry about their judgement,” joked Hawke. 

“No, it was,” she smiled and looked down at her left hand, the mark glowing faintly in her palm, “It was all because of this really.”

Hawke studied the mark, then lifted her hand, “Can I touch it?”

Renley snorted, “I guess?”

Hawke placed her thumb on the palm of Renley’s hand, “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

Hawke squeezed her palm between her fingers and Renley recoiled, “Ow! Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t-” Hawke watched as Renley began to laugh, realization creeping into her smile. She stepped forward and grabbed Renley’s wrist. She grabbed the front of Hawke’s coat with her free hand, preparing for another fight. But Hawke held fast, regarding Renley with a keen look in her eye. 

“I’ll take the mark for myself if you keep it up.”

An image of Corypheus, doing almost exactly the same thing a month earlier popped into her mind. Renley laughed, “Please do. Then we can make  _ you _ Inquisitor. That  was the plan before you ruined it.”

Renley held steady against Hawke’s pull on her wrist. Their strengths matched, unstoppable force meeting immovable object. She looked at Hawke as the clouds broke overhead. With skin luminous in the light of a full moon, the corners of her lips tilted in a mischievous smile, her grip firm around Renley’s wrist. For the second time, and not the last, she felt the urge to tempt her...

“There you are!” Alistair emerged from the stairs, Varric at his heels holding a bottle of brown liquor. 

Hawke's hand slid from Renley’s wrist as she turned to greet  them. The four spent a while beneath the Inquisitions flag before turning in. In the morning they would return to the mayor's home to find it empty, a single piece of parchment laying on his desk explaining what he’d done. 

“Will the Inquisition bring him in?” asked Blackwall. 

“Perhaps living in exile with the weight of his mistakes is punishment enough,” replied Renley. 

And so, they departed for Skyhold. The four companions plus Hawke and Alistair. The journey was smooth and the banters were endless. Renley struggled internally, trying to suppress the mounting feeling of dread as she listened. She resolved to see Leliana as soon as they returned in hopes that they could find some way to prevent a sacrifice. She thought of the mayor and wondered, were his choices justified? Or was it selfishness? An act of desperation, sacrificing the many for the few he loved. 


	20. A Bloody Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you can spot the Kingdom Come: Deliverance easter egg.

The old wooden stairs creaked underfoot as Renley made the familiar journey to the highest tower in Skyhold. Rays of sun filtered in through the windows above, illuminating the swirls of dust that hung about the air. She found her Spymaster standing before a raven, fastening a small roll of parchment to its leg. 

“We’ll have to work on your stealth,” she said as Renley approached, “I could hear you all the way from the great hall.” 

Renley moved a stack of parchment from the corner of the Spymaster’s desk and sat down, watching as Leliana carried the raven to the window and released it. 

“I like to make an entrance.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Leliana watched as the bird grew smaller on the horizon, disappearing into the sun. 

“Important business?” asked Renley. She watched Leliana closely as she turned from the window, sitting down in a chair that faced desk. Her demeanor was off. There was concern in her features, a tension in her shoulders. 

“I was hoping when you returned with Alistair, he would have word from...” 

A moment of silence followed in which Leliana picked at the hem of her coat, eyes glazed over, apparently deep in thought. 

“We can-” 

“Don’t.” 

Renley looked at her, brow furrowed.

“I want no deviations where Ursa is concerned,” continued Leliana

“She’s not in the Western Approach,” replied Renley softly. 

Leliana looked up with a cold look in her eye. Renley continued, “She’s far away from this nonsense. I don’t know what she’s doing... but at least she isn’t becoming an abomination.” 

Leliana exhaled, but the tension remained, “What news from Crestwood?” 

Renley gave a brief explanation of the corpses, the flood, the Mayor... then she spoke of Alistair and his news of the calling. From there she recounted the events of Here Lies the Abyss as best she could remember. She explained the blood magic and the manipulation of the Wardens, and how the final battle at Adamant Fortress would end with them falling into the fade. 

“There has to be a way to prevent it,” said Renley. It was more of a plea than a statement. 

They sat in thought for a long while, pondering different scenarios, trying their hardest to scheme their way into a better ending. But each potential solution seemed to have consequences worse than the alternative. And if it wasn’t the consequences, it was the fact that they just didn’t make sense. 

“We could bring our soldiers to the ritual tower,” suggested Renley. 

“Not before we’ve taken care of things at the Winter Palace. The empress would see it as a threat.” 

“What if we have our army start marching the day after we fix Orlais?” 

“How would we rationalize that to our advisors?” 

“I’m the Inquisitor. I’ll over rule them.” 

Leliana ignored the statement and continued, “Perhaps if we set the soldiers up _just_ so-” 

“And make Cullen stroke out? Besides, once we get into Adamant Fortress its chaos. We have to break our way in-” 

“What is ‘stroke out’?” 

“You guys don’t have stroke’s here?” 

“I don’t _know_ because I have no idea what strokes _are._ ” 

“It’s like a blood clot in your brain. Or it can be hemorrhagic-” 

“Forget I asked,” Leliana sat back heavily in her chair. 

Renley, now seated at Leliana’s desk, lowered her head onto its surface with a deep sigh. The light was growing dim in the Spymaster’s office. A chill breeze swept through the window and ruffled the scattered parchment littering the desk. 

“What if... what if you just didn’t follow Clarel?” 

Renley lifted her head from the desk, a piece of parchment sticking to her cheek. She regarded Leliana for a long moment, thinking... 

Leliana continued, “Clarel kills the dragon... blows up whatever side of the fortress she’s on...” 

Renley nodded slowly, “And we don’t fall into the fade.” 

They looked at each other, exchanging relieved smiles. Renley gave an exasperated chuckle, “Just don’t follow her.” 

They began laughing at themselves. How long had it taken them to arrive at such a simple solution? It was so easy. Just stay put and everyone lives. A vague sense of unease penetrated Renley’s good humor. It was easy. Too easy. The smile slid slowly from her face and she looked at Leliana. 

“Just don’t follow... right?” 

*** 

Renley descended the Spymaster’s tower feeling as though her brain were ten pounds heavier. Scenarios still played on repeat, try as she might to quiet them. The sun was getting low and the great hall was clearing out. She stood before her throne, taking in the ambiance and allowing her thoughts to dissipate. Large, echoing rooms had that effect on her. Something about the way they played with the senses... 

A creaking door on her right pulled her from her musings. She smiled as she laid eyes on Cassandra. 

“Inquisitor.” 

“Seeker,” Renley matched her air of formality. They sat in this awkward exchange for a short moment. 

Cassandra relented with a smirk, “It seems you’ve managed to stay out of trouble in Crestwood.”

“Only after we flooded the village and released a horde of corpses on their people.” 

Cassandra sighed. A door opened down the hall and who should enter but Hawke? She spotted Renley and made her way over. 

Hawke approached them and bowed sarcastically to Renley, “Your Grace.” 

“Get up,” Renley grinned mischievously, “You’re embarrassing me in front of _Cassandra_.” 

Hawke snapped to attention and eyed the Seeker, who was observing the two with mounting suspicion. 

“Cassandra, allow me to introduce to you,” Renley placed her hands on Hawke’s shoulders steering her forward, “The Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke.” 

She watched as Cassandra’s eyes grew wide in realization. She recovered quickly however, making her own introduction, “Ophelia Hawke-” 

“O- what?” Renley interrupted Cassandra. 

Hawke bristled, “It’s _Hawke_. Just Hawke.” 

Cassandra continued, “I am Cassandra Penteghast of Nevarra. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“You know you aren’t as scary as Varric made you out to be.” 

A low groan escaped Cassandra as Renley replied, “Ha! Wait till you see her fight,” she spoke of her as a child describing their favorite superhero might, “I have scars from the training.” 

“Well, that’s nothing to brag on. Anyone could best you.” 

“Not true.” 

“You should join us in training, Hawke,” offered Cassandra. 

“There, now we can have matching scars,” joked Renley. 

“Hawke won’t be fighting _me_ ,” Cassandra corrected her, “It would be beneficial for me to observe your progress from the side lines.” 

Hawke hooked her arm around Renley’s neck, a huge grin on her face, “Hope you have room for new scars, Inquisitor.” 

Cassandra smirked and made to leave, “We begin at first light.” 

Renley ducked out of Hawke’s arm as Cassandra sauntered away. All was dark in the Great Hall but for the flickering flame of the candelabras. She bid Hawke farewell and made her way up to her quarters with a stomach full of butterflies, the promise of tomorrow enough to still her mind if only for a night. 

*** 

All was dark as Renley dressed. Paying mind to her surroundings, she crept down the stairs and through the Great Hall, confident that she was navigating the large echoing chamber noiselessly. A whisper in the night, a shadow in the trees, a ghost- 

“Ah!” she exclaimed as two hands grabbed her around the waist.

They released her and she turned to see Hawke, doubled over with laughter. A thin strip of pink lined the horizon, a prelude to the sunrise to come. Renley breathed deeply as her heart rate slowed, her breath fogging in the chilly morning air. She smiled ruefully. 

She took a few steps toward the training room, putting a bit of distance between them before she spoke, “Good one, _Ophelia_. Now let’s-” she quickened her pace as Hawke lunged.

They jogged the remainder of the way, footsteps echoing in the stone corridor. They stopped just short of Cassandra, breathing heavily.

She raised an eyebrow at them and shook her head, “Let’s get started.” 

Hawke’s fighting style took some getting used to. Cassandra was crafty with a sword, always making you pay for any mistake, any hesitation. She knew no shortage of ways to use your own movements against you.

But Hawke was a different beast. With fluid movements and lightning-fast reflexes, any blow gone unchecked was a deadly one. It was a bit disorienting at first, but after a few bruises and a pointer or two from Cassandra, Renley began to gain ground. 

She distanced herself, using proper footing to make Hawke work. It was easier and easier to parry, and soon Renley began to see an opportunity. Renley stowed her dagger in her belt, gripping her shortsword with two hands. 

An evil grin lit Hawke's features, “What’s your game, Inquisitor?” 

“Try me.” 

Hawke launched a flurry of attacks that Renley dodged and parried, nearly catching a dagger to the face once or twice. Hawke thrust her weak hand forward and Renley parried hard, knocking the dagger from her grasp. Hawke brought her strong hand forward, but Renley was already moving. She stepped back and grabbed Hawkes wrist, twisting it behind her back. The second dagger fell to the ground. 

But Hawke was far from done. She brought her arm back and elbowed Renley in the nose causing her to drop her sword. The blow allowed her to break free, and as she did so, she swept Renley’s feet out from under her. Renley took Hawke down with her and they grappled. Soon Renley found herself straddling her foe, trying to keep hold of her arms. 

A drop of red fell onto Hawke’s cheek. Renley blinked and released her. Realizing the blood was in fact coming from her nose, she pinched her nostrils together and rolled off of Hawke. 

Hawke sat up, wiping her cheek with her fingers and examining the substance, “Ah, real nice. Nose blood.” 

Renley laughed, and replied in a nasal tone, “You caused it.” 

Cassandra knelt down at Renley’s side, “Let me see.” 

Renley removed her fingers and the blood began to flow again. Cassandra pressed her fingers gently along the sides of her nose, “It doesn’t seem broken.” 

Renley resumed pinching her nose. 

“I’m going to get some bandages,” Cassandra stood and left the chamber. 

"Well," Hawke stretched her arms out to her sides, a smug look on her face, “It looks like I won this one.” 

“Only because you’re afraid of blood.” 

Hawke scoffed, “I used to wear blood as war paint.” 

Renley leaned back on her free arm, “Why’d you stop?” 

“Eh. Got tired of rubbing the blood of enemies across my nose.” 

“How about the blood of an ally?” Renley raised her hand and Hawke swatted it away with a chuckle. 

“Cassandra’s taught you well, you know.” 

“Yeah... wait. Was that a compliment?” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“ _No_.” 

Renley chuckled, “You like me. How embarrassing.” 

“You wish.” 

Renley looked at her with a small smile, allowing her to sit in that statement for a moment. Hawke looked back at her, undoubtedly waiting for a witty remark, or a punch to the shoulder. But it didn’t come. Instead, she was met with silence, and left to ponder the uncharacteristic stillness that had fallen between them. 

*** 

Training ended when Cassandra returned, and shortly after having small pieces of cloth stuffed into her nostrils, Renley departed for the dining hall with Hawke at her side. As they walked through the great hall, stomachs growling and muscles sore, a voice called to Renley. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Hawke and Renley stopped short of the passage to the dining hall and turned to see Josephine making her way toward them, undoubtedly to wrangle Renley into a war council or a meeting with whichever noble had made the pilgrimage to Skyhold that week. 

“Josephine,” Renley smiled but the motion made her nose ache. She felt it gingerly with her fingers. 

“What happened?” asked Josephine. A hint of concern in her expression.

“Ask her and her elbow,” she gestured to Hawke. 

Hawke chuckled and crossed her arms standing tall and mimicking Cassandra, “You do not become proficient with-” 

Renley snorted and her nose began to bleed again. Still laughing, she held her head forward, her hand catching the blood beneath her. 

Hawke smiled and placed a hand on her back, “You alright, then?” 

Josephine stepped forward, pulling a handkerchief from nowhere and placing her hand on Renley’s arm, “Here, the apothecary can-” 

“Stop fussing, you two,” Renley chuckled. She took a step forward and turned to face them, pinching her nose yet again. 

“Come, Inquisitor. You’re getting blood all over your doublet,” said Josephine reproachfully.

“This is called a doublet?” Renley pulled her coat back, examining it. 

Hawke snorted, “What planet are you from anyway?” 

“You know about planets?” 

“Maybe I _did_ hit you a little too hard,” Hawke laughed. 

“ _Regardless_ , you can’t walk around Skyhold with blood dripping from your nose all day. We have very important guests here,” Josephine looped her arm through Renley’s and steered her away toward the infirmary. Hawke watched the pair retreat with amusement. 

*** 

The infirmary was a mess. Broken cabinets held dusty bottles of half empty jars. Dirty bandages littered the floor, a puddle that looked suspiciously like urine congealed in the corner. And the smell... Renley could smell it even through her pinched nostrils. Anger flared inside her as she walked among the scattered cots, no organization, no cleanliness to be found. 

“Who is in charge here?” asked Renley. 

A wounded soldier groaned weekly from a nearby cot, “I can’t sleep.” 

“Well, you are,” Josephine said to Renley, “But on a smaller scale, there are a few Chantry sisters here who tend to things.” 

Renley spun a circle, looking for a flash of white robes, “Where are they now?” 

“I’m not-” 

“Someone should be here!” Renley’s voice rose in anger, “This place is a mess. Anyone who’s treated here is going to get an infection!” 

A matronly woman in Chantry robes poked her head in, looking for the source of the disturbance. Her eyes widened as she laid eyes on Renley, “Inquisitor!” she straightened up and entered the room. 

“Sister Wynona,” began Josephine, “The Inquisitor has need of-” 

“No! Forget about _me_. Look at this place!” she gestured to the whole of the infirmary. 

Sister Wynona became flustered under Renley’s glare, “I- I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I-” 

Renley sighed and took in her surroundings again. An old bucket of mop water sat in the corner attracting flies. One cot had broken, its leg snapped in half creating a splintery wooden death trap. She looked back at Wynona who was practically trembling in fear, “Has the Inquisition not given you the resources you need?” 

Wynona looked between Josephine and Renley, uncertainty in her eyes, “Well I- I suppose the facilities...” 

Renley nodded slowly as Wynona faltered. She regarded the Chantry sister for a long moment. Was she really so scared? Of a woman who’d been referred to as Inquisitor Stupid and who’d been punched in the face by more than one of her companions? Renley exhaled and smiled, trying to present a more calming presence, “Sister Wynona, would you please be so kind as to gather the other workers?” 

Wynona nodded and hastened from the infirmary. 

“Your Worship...” 

Renley turned to Josephine, having all but forgotten she was there. Josephine continued. 

“This infirmary is really quite standard-” 

“That _cannot_ be true,” Renley shook her head as she looked around the room, thinking that it could use a good bleach cleaning, when it hit her. They weren’t in the era of modern medicine. And even sanitation was a fairly recent practice on earth. And why did it bother her so, anyway? The mess felt personal.

“We have to clean this up. The sick and wounded will heal quicker when we do.” 

The wounded soldier groaned again, "I'll never get any sleep."

Josephine stepped forward and grasped Renley’s chin in her fingers, “We can start with you.” 

Carefully, with soft strokes of her handkerchief, she wiped the blood away from Renley’s nose. Her eyes, Renley noticed, were grey... no, green? Wait... Josephine paused as she noticed Renley looking at her, perhaps intrigued by her gaze. And Renley, brain fuzzy and nerves mounting, felt powerless to look away. 

“We’re here, Inquisitor! I’ve gathered them all up!” Four women wearing various shades of Chantry robes shuffled into the infirmary and lined up in a row, facing Renley and Josephine. 

Renley stepped up to the four, placing her hands behind her back and addressing them, “I'll be straight forward. This place is _disgusting_. I know you may not have a lot to work with right now, but that’s going to change. Make me a list of everything you’re lacking, everything you need. Get it to me, then start cleaning. I’ll send agents to assist you, but I want this place spotless. No standing water, no puddles of piss in the corner... _clean_.” 

The ladies nodded and Renley made to leave, Josephine following close behind. 

“Inquisitor!” Wynona called to her. She held out a small jar of green paste, “For your nose. It’ll stop the bleed in a hurry, so long as it’s not broken.” 

Renley smiled and held the jar up, examining it. She looked back to Wynona before departing, a softer look in her eyes, “If you need anything, anything at all, find me directly.” 

The soldier groaned as Renley reached the door. She paused and turned back to Wynona, “And get that soldier something for sleep.” 


	21. Templar Surprise

Skyhold was a bustle of activity, growing more and more with each passing day. With this growth came an endless stream of responsibility in the form of paperwork, handshakes and war councils. 

How many hours had Renley spent in the war room? Moving pawns about the map and discussing alliances, noble houses and factions. And then there were Cullen’s briefings. How they managed to last as long as they did, Renley couldn’t be sure. 

She watched her Commander speak, his jaw stiff, fingers fidgeting, a fine perspiration above his brow. Renley glanced at Leliana and caught her eye. She creased her brow and looked back at Cullen. 

At first, she had thought it nerves, but the longer she watched the more she noticed. She observed him, paying mind to his ticks, to the vein bulging in his forehead. 

The briefings at last came to a close, and the advisors parted ways. 

Renley followed Leliana into the great hall, and they lingered in front of the throne as had become their custom.

"So?" Leliana turned to Renley and raised her brow. “What’s bothering our Commander?” 

Renley stopped short of the throne's platform, and looked up at her. “He’s quitting lyrium.” 

The corners of her mouth turned down in consideration. “Will this become a problem?” 

“No,” Renley sighed. “But I need to look in on-” 

“Inquisitor!” 

They turned to see an Inquisition soldier jogging through the great hall toward them. He stopped short of the throne, breathing heavily. 

“Inquisitor, ser.” He placed his fist over his chest in greeting. “We’ve caught a Templar attempting to gain entry to Skyhold.” 

Renley looked past the messenger as she tried to recall the moment from the story, but she couldn’t. “Where are they?” 

“We have him held in the dungeons.” 

“And there was only one?” questioned Leliana. 

“Yes, Sister Nightengale.” 

Leliana took a step toward Renley, leaning in close so no one would hear her words. “What is this?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied in a low voice. “This is new.” 

The Spymaster nodded and turned back to the soldier. “Find Commander Cullen and brief him.” 

The soldier saluted once more and hurried away. 

“Follow me.” Leliana started down the hall toward the courtyard. They found Scout Harding loitering around the entrance to the tavern. 

“Inquisitor. Leliana.” 

“Gather a team and scout the perimeter of Skyhold,” ordered Leliana. “If you see anything out of place, send word immediately.” 

“At once.” She left without further instruction. 

They made their way across the training grounds and descended the steps to the dungeon. The stone passage of stairs seemed to open up into the sky. Cells were carved into the rocky mountain face and were accessible by broken walkways patched with crude wooden scaffolding. 

A few soldiers were gathered around one cell in particular. Cassandra stood among them. The soldiers parted as Renley and Leliana approached. 

“I need to see the Inquisitor.” The prisoner spoke as they drew closer. 

Cassandra tilted her chin in greeting, then turned her attention back to the cell. “Ser Barris of the Templar order. Brought in by Cullen’s men. They found him advancing from the east.” 

Renley looked down at Ser Barris who was kneeling in his cell, wrists bound, his face bruised and bloody. His eyes lit up as his gaze fell on Renley. 

“Inquisitor!” 

“Ser Barris.” 

“I came to warn you of the Templars-” 

“We’re well aware, I assure you,” interrupted Leliana. 

“You can imagine why your presence here is troubling,” added Cassandra. 

“Not _all_ of us fell to that...that thing,” Ser Barris pleaded with the three women as they looked down on him. “Most of us were killed when we tried to resist, but some of us escaped.” He looked Renley in the eye. “We can _help_. We can fight back against the others.” 

“You may have come too late, Ser Barris,” replied Renley. “Many here saw their home destroyed by Templars. I don’t think the Inquisition can offer you it’s protection.” 

“We don’t want your protection.” 

Renley raised her brow. “Oh?” 

“We want to fight. We want vengeance.” His voice shook with emotion. “I have forty men at your disposal. To fight demons, eliminate targets, to do _whatever_ it takes to fix this.” 

Renley regarded him a moment. In her gut she believed him. She felt as though Ser Barris was worthy of trust, and could provide a valuable service to the Inquisition. But her mind had its doubts. The majority of which stemmed from the deviation of the script. 

“Stay with him,” she said to the soldiers. “No one comes in or out unless it's present company.” 

Ser Barris called to her as she made for the exit, “I remember your words from that day in Val Royeaux.” 

She hesitated as she neared the threshold, Cassandra and Leliana by her side. She recalled the moment vividly. 

_When you get tired of following a lunatic, Ser Barris, come find me._

“You knew. You knew what he was...and you saw something in me. Give me a chance, Inquisitor.” 

She could feel Cassandra’s eyes on her as she exchanged glances with Leliana. They hurried up the stairs and into the courtyard where Cullen intercepted them. 

“My soldiers say that Templars are advancing on Skyhold.” 

“Not exactly. Grab Josephine and meet us in the war room.” Renley turned to Cassandra. “You should join us.” 

“Whatever you need.” 

“Good. We’re right behind you.” 

They watched as the Seeker retreated. Renley pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. 

“You’re sure you can recall none of this?” Leliana asked in a low voice. 

Renley shook her head. “I don’t know. If we had sided with the Templars...” she sliced her gaze over their surroundings. Workers and villagers milled about, either for work or for leisure. Eyes and ears were on all sides. How many were paying attention? 

“Come on.” Renley hurried into the great hall with Leliana on her heels. 

They entered the door to Josephine’s office and took an immediate left, descending the stairs into a room full of cobwebs and books. A tome sat open on a desk in the middle of the room, a green velvet armchair sat before it. 

She turned to Leliana, her hands gesturing in front of her as she spoke, “If we’d recruited the Templars instead of the mages, Ser Barris would have been on our side. He would have helped us defeat Lord Seeker Lucius, and had the potential to become an Inquisition agent under Cullen. That is, if he didn’t die during the recruitment.” 

“Where should he be now?” 

“Dead? I think? The Red Templars supposedly killed anyone who wasn’t corrupted. Though...I’m not sure if that’s fact or just assumed.” 

“He said you spoke to him in Val Royeaux.” 

Renley ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “I told him to find me, when he saw Lucius for what he really was.” 

Leliana folded her arms. “Therefore, breaking the script.” 

Dust hung heavy in the air. It smelled of old books and leather. Renley inhaled the scent, so potent she could practically taste it. Her handling of Ser Barris could yield unpredictable results. Be it sending him away or taking him on as an agent, they were venturing into uncharted territory. 

She made up her mind and turned to Leliana. “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Let’s use him.” 

“How do we know he can be trusted?” 

“We don’t. Yet. We’ll send him and his Templars on a few errands. See how they turn out. If they prove themselves useful, then Barris can be officially recruited.” 

“You’ll have to convince your advisors.” 

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Cullen wanted the Templars from the beginning. Cassandra is a Seeker, so surely, she’ll be on board. That just leaves you and Josephine.” 

“What makes you think I’ll agree?” 

The response tore an exasperated chuckle from Renley. “If you didn’t, I think I’d abandon the plan completely.” 

“You’ll have to do better than that.” 

She cut her gaze at the Spymaster. 

“Your instincts are good. Stand firm in your decisions.” 

They exchanged a long look. Renley admiring the one she had spent so many hours conspiring with, who she leaned on more than any other. And Leliana, studying the one who had answers, seeing her potential and eager to find what she could do with it, given the proper guidance. 

“Come on,” Leliana broke the silence. “The war council waits.” 

The advisors were already conspiring when Renley and Leliana entered the chamber. 

Cullen looked to the Spymaster as they entered. “Have your scouts found anything?” 

“No,” she replied. 

“Why would a lone Templar make himself known to Skyhold?” Josephine brandished her quill. “What is his game?” 

“I don’t think he has one.” Renley lifted an old tankard from the war table and sniffed cautiously at its contents. “I think he’s truthful.” 

“We can’t be too careful,” added Cassandra. “Not after what happened at Haven.” 

“The question is, what do we do with him now that he’s here?” asked Cullen. 

They stood in silence a moment, pondering their options. Renley winced as she sipped from the tankard, the mysterious substance having somehow grown more potent with age. 

“We could interrogate him,” suggested Cassandra. 

The ghost of a smirk played on Josephine’s lips as she observed the Inquisitor’s silent struggle. Renley cleared her throat and croaked out her response with shining eyes, “I like that idea.” 

The Ambassador regained her composure. “What will we do with him if the results of this interrogation are inconclusive?” 

“We could keep him prisoner,” mused Cullen. 

Leliana stepped up to the war table. “I think we can find a more productive solution. Ser Barris says he wants vengeance. Let us give it to him.” 

“Can we afford to take that chance?” asked Cassandra. 

“And what of our people?” asked Josephine. “Many of our strongest supporters harbor ill will for the Templars after the siege of Haven.” 

“Let’s send them to the Hinterlands,” said Renley. “We have them eradicate any remaining Red Templars. If they get that done without major incidence, we recruit them into the Inquisition.” 

Silence yawned in the war room. The suns warmth retreated from the chamber, leaving a lambent glow from candles scattered along the map of Thedas. 

“Are you sure about this?” began Cullen. “Sending a group of rogues from a fallen order to the field could have devastating consequences.” 

“They’re among the last of the uncorrupted Templars.” Renley returned the tankard to the table, her gaze lingering on a bit of wax drawing ever closer to Skyhold’s location on the map. “If they're successful, there's a chance they can help rebuild once all of this is over.” 

“The plan has potential,” said Cassandra. “He claims he has forty men. Under the command of the Inquisition, a group that size could make a formidable unit.” 

“Can we be sure he’s telling the truth?” countered Josephine. “He could have sixty men, or the entirety of the Red Templars.” 

“Allow me to question him.” Cassandra swept her gaze over the advisors. “I will find the truth.” 

“He’s all yours,” said Renley.

Renley addressed her advisors as Cassandra withdrew, “Pending what she uncovers, we stick with sending Ser Barris to the Hinterlands.” 

The advisors gave their consent and Renley dismissed them. “Cullen. Can you stay behind? I’d like a word.” 

“Of course.” 

Leliana and Josephine exited the room. 

Renley’s eyes swept over the figurines adorning the map. Each pawn, carved from wood in pain staking detail, was meticulously placed across Ferelden and Orlais, casting looming shadows over the area around them. 

Cullen cleared his throat, “Inquisitor?” 

“How is sobriety treating you?” 

“How...?” He cast his gaze down at the map.

She looked him over, eyes straining against the falling darkness. “It was a guess, in all honesty.” 

Cullen exhaled, “I stopped several months ago. When I joined the Inquisition.” 

“Why are you just now having withdrawals?” 

He placed his hands on the table and sighed. “I was going to inform you of my situation. That is...until I used again.” 

“You could have told me either way.” Renley noticed a fine tremor in his fingers. “I hope you aren’t alone with this.” 

“I’ve asked Cassandra to...watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised. I will be relieved from duty.” 

“You’re a good Commander, Cullen.” He met her eye at last, with the slightest hint of doubt. “There’s no one I’d trust more with our soldiers.” 

“I’ve gotten the impression that you aren’t all that fond of me.” 

Renley sighed, “I won’t lie to you. I wasn’t, when we were in Haven.” 

Cullen huffed, “What did I do to deserve that?” 

It was difficult for Renley to put her finger on exactly what it was. To her, Cullen was the embodiment of an entitled authority figure. Perhaps he was exactly that, but Renley was now familiar with what it meant to be in charge, and as a result her view of the Commander had softened. 

“You were a good advisor.” 

He looked at her with a small crease in his brow. 

Renley continued, “You questioned my judgment, as any good advisor would do. I wasn’t ready for it.” 

“Perhaps, you just didn’t trust me yet.” 

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here. And I respect what you’re doing.” 

Cullen raked his fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen...I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.” 

“Good. If you have any problems, please come to me.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” 

*** 

Night had fallen in Skyhold. Renley met Cassandra in the dungeons, and together they walked to the end of the scaffolding. They looked out over the silhouetted mountain pass. 

“I believe Ser Barris speaks truthfully,” said Cassandra. 

A light breeze ruffled the collar of Renley’s shirt. “If this works out...” 

“It would be a great benefit to the Inquisition.” 

“I fear the consequences. The potential backlash.” 

“Good.” 

Renley creased her brow at the Seeker. 

“A leader who doesn’t heed the consequence of their actions is reckless.” 

“I see your logic.” Renley folded her arms. A half-moon was rising, stars blinking into existence as the mountain air grew colder. 

“The Templar order needs reform.” Renley measured her words. She felt nervous saying this in present company. It escaped her memory where Cassandra stood on this matter. “Getting them on our side, having them work with the mages...it could be a new beginning.” 

Cassandra eyed her thoughtfully. “The entirety of the Circle could do with reform. The Templars should stand not as the jailors of the mages, but as protectors of the innocent.” 

Their breath fogged before them. The air seemed to grow colder by the minute. 

“Let us speak of this later.” Cassandra folded her arms as a shiver ran through her shoulders. “It's getting late.” 

Renley turned and beckoned to the guard. “Unlock the cell.” 

Ser Barris looked up, his eyes wide and expectant. He shook his wrists out as the guard unshackled him. 

“So.” Renley looked him over. “You want to work with the Inquisition?” 

“Yes,” replied Ser Barris. “I’ll do whatever you need. My men and I are reliable.” 

“We’ll soon find out. Our soldiers will escort you out of Skyhold where you’ll meet with one of our agents. They’ll brief you on what needs to be done. If we like the results, we may recruit you.” 

“I won’t let you down, Inquisitor.” 

The soldiers marched Ser Barris from the dungeons leaving Renley and Cassandra lingering before an empty cell. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re babysitting us, Cassandra?” 

“I don’t catch your meaning.” 

“You know. With me and my perils, Cullen and his lyrium addiction...” 

“Ah, so he told you.” They followed the soldiers to the courtyard, maintaining a small distance. 

“Actually, I just sort of...figured it out.”

“Leliana has had an influence on you,” replied Cassandra with a smirk. 

“It was bound to happen.” Renley smiled. “The two of you aren’t exactly wallflowers.” 

“I’ll pretend to know what that means.” 

They watched as Ser Barris and the soldiers entered the lift. Renley had high hopes for him, though there was no denying her nerves. Such a small action had resulted in a major deviation from the story. If everything worked out, however, it would mean the Inquisition would have the Templars, the mages, and the Wardens on their side. 

She bid Cassandra goodnight and made her way to her quarters, eager for the comfort of her bed. But as she lay in the dark, her mind would not quiet. When she was finally able to close her eyes, it was to unsettling images of mages and Templars, toiling with the chaotic ambiance of a renaissance painting.

A smooth, pale face watched her with mild interest as she tried to settle the crowd. The face showed no pity as she became overwhelmed in the mayhem, and didn't so much as blink as it watched her drown slowly in a sea of bodies. 


	22. Checking In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*

Renley left training that morning with a mind to check in on her companions. It didn’t seem to happen as organically as she assumed it would. They were perhaps, the most important aspect of her journey. What good was the Inquisitor without their companions?

Her first stop was Varric. He lingered, as usual, before the fireplace in the great hall. A warm ambiance radiated from the scene. A passionate writer, honing his craft in the glow of the fire. Parchment littering the table, broken quills and empty inkwells among them. 

“Hey, Varric,” Renley announced herself. 

Varric turned away from his work and smiled, “Your Inquisitorialness.” 

Renley rolled her eyes and took a seat, warming her fingers near the fire, “How are things going?” 

“I’ve been meaning to come talk to you-” 

Renley chuckled, “Well why didn’t you? I’ve always got time for you.” 

His manner turned formal, or an attempt at formal. Not unlike a distant relative trying to toast a ceremony, “I never officially joined the Inquisition. I don’t know how to do this- uh, disciple-hood thing-” 

“What?” Renley scoffed, “ _Disciple_ -hood? Varric it’s just me.” 

“If you knew how intimidating you are you wouldn’t make it sound so simple.” 

Renley gawked at him, “Are you sick?” she lifted a hand to his forehead and he pushed it away with a chuckle. 

“I’m _serious_. You just don’t know what you are to the people out there. The Herald of Andraste? The symbol bigger than any of us.” 

“I’m speechless.” 

“Well, that’s a first.” 

Renley grinned relieved that the stiffness of Varric’s demeanor was fading fast. He continued, “Well I should get back to work... unless? You up for a game of Wicked Grace?” 

*** 

Varric and Renley made their way down to the tavern, but stopped when the sounds of a heated debate reached their ears. Renley raised her eyebrows at Varric, and they descended the stairs to find Solas, Cassandra and Vivienne having a discussion. They joined the group, listening to the debate unfold. 

“This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here,” stated Vivienne. 

“Seems like a harsh way to talk about the kid,” Varric made their presence known. 

Renley looked back toward the stairs. Cole was digging in the dirt, seemingly paying no mind to the words being spoken on his behalf. 

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate?” Solas asked Vivienne. 

She blinked at him. Perhaps with a mind that apostates were in fact not much higher on the list as far as she was concerned. 

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra greeted Renley, “I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his unusual abilities.” 

“He can cause people to forget him,” replied Solas, “Or even fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.” 

“It is a demon,” drawled Vivienne. 

“If you prefer,” said Solas, “Although the truth is somewhat more complex.” 

“We are endangered by its very presence. How many lives will this demon later claim?” countered Vivienne. 

“In fact, his nature is not so easily defined.” 

“Speak plainly, Solas. What are we dealing with?” asked Cassandra. 

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form they look bizarre, monstrous.” 

“But you claim Cole looks like a young man,” replied Cassandra, “Is it possession?” 

“No. He has possessed nothing and no one. And yet he appears human in all respects. Cole is-” Solas turned to address Renley, only to find that she had left their conversation. 

She followed Cole to the infirmary. Sister Wynona stiffened at her approach, “Your Grace, I think you’ll be satisfied with the state of things.” 

Renley looked at her surroundings. The floor was clear of debris. The thick layer of dust was gone and it smelled like... well nothing. Nothing at all, “Very much so. And how are the wounded?” 

“Getting better every day."

“Cracked brown pain, dry, scraping. Thirsty,” Cole approached one of the wounded and gave them a skin of water. They took it gratefully, drinking deeply as though it was their last. 

Wynona looked at Cole, flustered and fumbling her words, “I- where... where did you come-” 

“It’s alright, Sister,” Renley spoke softly, “This is Cole. He can help in the infirmary, so long as he doesn’t get in the way,” she raised an eyebrow at Cole who looked back with interest. 

“Yes, helping. I help the hurt, the helpless...” 

Renley placed a hand on his shoulder, “You can help in any way you’re able. But in this infirmary, you answer to the Sisters. Find me if you have trouble.” 

Cole looked at her, or perhaps looked through her, “He plagues you. Lingering there inside. As does she. But she is not gone. Where is she?” 

“Right...” Renley looked at him a moment longer, “Well... get to work Cole. You’re doing good.” 

“I want to stay,” Cole replied, expression vacant but mind sensing all. 

She left him there, not even beginning to unpack the meaning of Cole’s cryptic words. She returned to Varric who was chatting idly with Solas, Cassandra and Vivienne. 

“Cole stays,” she said to the group. And without breaking her stride, “Let’s go, Varric.” 

*** 

They entered the tavern to find it mostly empty. The people of Skyhold were busy with their daily tasks, considering it was still early afternoon. They sat down and Varric pulled a deck of cards from his coat. The bar maid brought them ale as he shuffled. 

Two firm hands grasped Renley's shoulders, “Playing a game of Wicked Grace without me?” 

“Hawke!” Varric greeted her, “Have a seat, I’ll deal you in.” 

“I see your nose is healing nicely,” Hawke sat down and raised her fingers to Renley’s face. 

“I almost had you,” Renley knocked her hand aside, “If I’d just had one more minute-” 

“Wait, wait,” Varric interrupted, “Not that I’m surprised or anything, but...” 

Hawke and Renley proceeded to tell Varric about their training session with Cassandra as they began their first round of Wicked Grace. 

“And then,” Hawke went on gesturing at Renley with an open hand, “This one didn’t even know what a doublet was-” 

Varric chuckled into his tankard.

“To be fair, you had just hit me in the head. Really hard.” 

“Well-” 

“Inquisitor.” 

The group looked around to see none other than Josephine looking down at them, her expression stern, her posture stiff. 

“Speak of the devil,” said Renley, faltering a little as she studied her. 

Hawke laughed, “What’s a devil, then?” 

“May I speak with you?” asked Josephine, though it seemed more an insistence than a request. Varric and Hawke looked down at the cards, hiding their smiles like guilty school children. 

“Sure,” Renley replied hesitantly. She rose from her chair and followed Josephine to the stairs as Hawke and Varric snickered. 

“We’ll save you’re spot!” Varric called after them. 

Renley followed her upstairs and around the banister, until they arrived at a small room, almost small enough to be a closet. _Wait, isn’t this..._

Josephine rounded on her, “What is this?” 

Renley took a folded piece parchment from Josephine and examined it closely. A wax seal was stamped on the back reading ‘House of Repose’. She stared at it in disbelief. 

“Where did you get this?” 

Josephine paced the length of the small room, “Explain to me why one of Leliana’s agents handed me a contract this morning. On my _life_.” 

Renley inhaled through gritted teeth as she looked over the contract. There were many, many things wrong with this scenario, “Sounds like a question for Leliana-” 

Josephine paused her pacing, giving Renley a sharp look, “I asked you first.” 

“Yeah, well...” Renley was at a loss for words, her mind strangely blank. She had no idea how to dig herself out of this one. 

“What is it about you?” Josephine narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, studying Renley’s expression, “You come out of the fade, remembering nothing about yourself. You have no family, no past, no life to speak of. You use this... _weird_ dialect of Antivan . And you _know_ things. It’s almost like... like you’re steering us like you- and this?” she snatched the contract from Renley, holding it up as evidence, “ _I_ didn’t even know about this. And it’s about me!” 

Renley was helpless beneath the Ambassador's shrewd gaze. Josephine was no fool. The way Renley saw it, she could go in two directions. Appeal to Josephine’s sensitive side, make her feel guilty for bringing up a past she didn’t remember. The thought of it made Renley feel foul. Which brought her to the second option. Blame Leliana. 

“Our Spymaster has connections ranging all across Thedas. Things we know-” 

Josephine exhaled sharply, “Things you should be sharing with your advisors.” 

“We share what needs to be-” 

“It’s _my_ life!” Josephine shook the contract at Renley, “Where do the lies begin, Inquisitor. And where do they end?” 

Where indeed? Renley couldn’t come clean, and she couldn’t think up another lie on the spot. Not while she was looking at her that way. It was intimidating, Josephine and her powers of confrontation. She had an unwavering determination and an astuteness that was the downfall of any who dared debate her. 

Renley met her gaze, jaw clenched, thinking fast. Only the truth would save her now. Or a version of it, “We received an invitation from a Comte. We met with him and he told us he was an assassin from the House of Repose. He said it was only fair to give us a heads up, because the contract is over one hundred years old. Leliana looked into it, and I ordered the contract destroyed.” 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. It’s how things would have gone, given slightly altered circumstances. The stress in the Ambassadors posture relaxed as she took in the information. But her frustrated demeanor remained. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered-” started Renley. 

“Of course, it matters-” 

“You’re _safe_. What matters more than that?” 

Josephine crossed her arms, and considered. After a moment she shook her head. Her eyes met Renley’s, and she made her reply, “My autonomy.” 

Renley exhaled as she watched her leave. She sat heavily on the couch and rested her chin on her fist. She felt guilty, thinking of the betrayal in Josephine’s eyes. But that wasn’t the heart of it. That contract shouldn’t exi- 

“Thought you two would never get on with it.” 

Renley exclaimed as Sera poked her head in the window, “Have you been out there this whole time?” 

“I have. And aren’t you in the shit?” Sera crawled through the window and made herself comfortable, leaning an arm against the window sill. Her posture was open and welcoming. 

“No,” Renley dismissed her accusations with an air of false confidence, “This is our _thing_. She discovers my secrets, then we have a weird moment of tension...” 

“Pft. Seems like a strange way to date someone.” 

“We are not _dating_ ,” replied Renley, indignant. 

“Yeah, alright,” Sera smiled mischievously. 

“No, seriously. I mean she’s...” 

“She’s good yeah? She’s- well you don’t need me going on about your little Josi-” 

“She isn’t _my_ Josi. She’s tempting... don’t get me wrong. But I’m no noble. Nor do I want to be. I don’t want to spend my life at Orlesian balls and ‘playing the game’,” Renley finished with an exaggerated air of formality. 

“Yeah, you don’t really seem the type.” 

“Exactly, and-” 

“So, it’s Hawke then?” 

Renley gawked at her, “Okay, why are you spying on me?” 

“It’s not spying when it’s out there for everyone to see,” Sera tucked a leg beneath her other and gave Renley a knowing look. 

“Well... I mean-” 

“Don’t be shy. She’s well fit that one. Always walking around, blades on her back, smirking at people like she knows their secrets...” 

Renley chuckled, a dreamy look creeping into her eye, “Yeah...” 

Sera smiled and poked her shoulder, “So? What are you doing here? Hawke’s downstairs, and your Ambassador just made it back to the great hall.” 

“I can’t just-” 

“Why not? You’re the Inquisitor. You can do what you want.” 

Renley looked at her a moment, failing to see any holes in her logic, and wondering why she didn’t spend more time checking in on her companions. They gave such good advice, after all. Sera looked back, resting her head in her hand. 

A smile spread across her face, “Yeah, why not? I’ll be back though. To check in,” Renley rose from the couch and headed for the door, “Soon!” 

“Go on,” Sera watched in amusement as the Inquisitor departed. How strange she was, this ‘Herald of Andraste’. She found herself looking forward to Renley’s return, eager to hear what would come of this developing mess of intrigue. 

*** 

It was several rounds of Wicked Grace later, when Renley bid Hawke and Varric farewell. As always, she’d enjoyed hearing the two banter. She couldn’t get enough of their stories and reminiscing. But the task she’d set out to accomplish that day was far from complete. And there was still the matter of Josephine... Leliana needed to know about the day's events. 

Renley made her way down to the stables to find Blackwall, building a small wooden rocking horse. He stopped when he spotted Renley, as though he were caught doing something indecent. 

“This- this is just... it’s something to keep the hands busy.” 

Renley smiled and walked toward him, examining Blackwall’s art project, “It looks great.” 

Blackwall ran a hand through his hair and looked down. He had a very humble presence, “You know, I’m grateful you tracked me down when you did. As exciting as wandering the woodlands was, this is better.” 

He returned to his woodworking, carving little divots from the wood with his chisel, “It’s good to be part of something so important, something that could change things.” 

“And what will you do when our work is done? Re-join the Wardens?” 

“Perhaps. Assuming we can save them from the clutches of Corypheus.” 

“Don’t you doubt it,” she smiled as Blackwall looked at her, “We’ll have them back up and running in no time.” 

Blackwall chuckled, “’You are who you choose to follow’. Someone told me that once. Took me years to understand what he meant.” 

“Wise words. I almost feel like I’ve heard them before.” 

“It was a chevalier who said those words to me. A powerful man, but never without honor. A true knight,” Blackwall went on to reveal one of the great mistakes of his life. Turning down the chevalier’s offer of tutelage had set him on a dark path. Renley stayed silent, letting him confess a piece to the puzzle of his identity. 

“You’re a good man, Blackwall,” Renley looked him in the eye, “You’ll always have a place here.” 

Blackwall met her gaze with a strange look in his eye, but he did not hold it. He returned to his craft and Renley bid him farewell. 

*** 

_Okay, three to go_. Renley made her way through the great hall and up a few flights of stairs to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Vivienne had made this area hers, adorned with expensive rugs and immaculate furniture. She turned as Renley approached, bringing to mind an ethereal being of light and beauty. 

“You’ve made such interesting design choices for the castle, my dear. They must be inspired,” who _they_ were, Renley could only guess. The servants? The soldiers? 

She snorted, “Why thank you. I think it has a... je ne sais quoi.” 

Vivienne sighed, “My dear, please don’t _ever_ try speaking Orlesian in front of an actual Orlesian.” 

Renley snapped her fingers in realization, “Refugee motif.” 

Vivienne stared at her for a long moment, cold eyes boring a hole into Renley’s very existence. Was this perhaps, the final straw? She had undoubtedly disapproved of her handling of the mages and her decision regarding Cole. On top of that, could two obnoxious comments be the thing that finally sent her approval of Renley plummeting? 

To Renley’s surprise however, Vivienne sniffed and relented a small, almost imperceptible smile, “When things have settled down a bit, I will take you to Val Royeaux and introduce you to my seamstress. Appearances are important. We can’t have you mistaken for a commoner.” 

Renley considered a moment, “Can your seamstress make me... anything?” 

Vivienne eyed her suspiciously, “...yes.” 

She leaned against the rail with glassy eyes, envisioning all of the possibilities, “I may take you up on that.” 

“Why do I feel as though I’ll regret this?” 

*** 

_And then there were two._

She made her way down the stairs, seeking out Solas. This would be her first time visiting him in Skyhold. And for a moment, she wondered if she should... 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her coolly. 

“Solas. I just wanted to check... in...” her eyes fell upon the walls of his dwelling. His frescoes. They were... different, darker. Echoes of a dream, stirring something within. They were otherworldly. In a very specific way. 

“Is there something you wished to discuss?” 

Renley tore her eyes away from the images, composing her features, “Cole.” 

Solas raised an eyebrow at her, “Cole?” 

“Cole.” 

A long moment of silence passed between them. Renley couldn’t guess at what Solas must be thinking. And as for the matter of his script, she was certain it was over. What she saw on the walls was a blatant caricature of her dreams. Or she thought they were... weren’t they? She looked upon a wall painted in eerie hues of blue and green. It almost looked, impressionistic. At first glance, it could have been the fade, but the longer she looked the more it reminded her of muddy water... 

“Inquisitor?” 

“Are you trying to make sense of something?” Renley asked him as she studied his art. 

Solas walked to her side and gazed upon the wall, “I paint what I have seen in the fade.” 

“These are my dreams, Solas,” her eyes followed the subtle swirls of the brush strokes, mimicking water. The flowing green strands resembling aquatic plant life, and a lighter spot in the middle, almost white... 

“You are connected with the fade. Because of the anchor you bear. It is natural we see similar things. I, in my exploration of the fade. And you when you dream at night.” 

It was a logical explanation. The fade was complicated, perhaps beyond comprehension. In the story it was complex... but add the fact that she was here, seemingly because of it... 

“Right. It’s just... unsettling to see.” 

“Humans often lack the ability to comprehend such things. They seek a truth that is beyond them.” 

Renley scoffed, “You sound like Corypheus.” 

Solas looked away from his frescoes and eyed Renley curiously, “Corypheus’ success is born of arrogation. Be it the throne of the gods or the magic of my people. It stands to reason that he would assimilate with the ideals of those he violates.” 

“A deadly case of appropriation,” Renley tore her gaze from the lighter area of his painting, and looked upon Solas’ pale features, “But perhaps I shouldn’t think too hard on it. My tiny human brain might shrivel up and die from the effort.” 

An awkward silence followed. Renley wasn’t sure what the significance behind this encounter was. All she really knew was that she wanted to leave. So, she started for the door. 

“And, regarding Cole?” 

Renley turned around with a sigh, “Right, just... keep an eye on him? He’s a good kid.” 

“He is a spirit.” 

“Okay.” 

*** 

It was getting late, and Renley was tired. She was just thinking she could save Dorian for tomorrow, when she was stopped by Mother Giselle in the great hall. 

“My lady Inquisitor. I have news regarding one of your companions,” her voice was almost melodic, “The Tevinter.” 

“Oh!” Renley’s eyes lit up, “Do go on.” 

“I have been in contact with his family. House Pavus out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?” 

“Definitely,” this was the start of Dorians personal quest. In which she as Inquisitor would accompany him to confront his homophobic father. She was eager to be there for him, especially without the constraints of limited dialogue options. 

“The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son. And pleading for my aid. And asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man. I’d hoped-” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” 

“I feared you’d say that. The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at Redcliffe tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you. If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.” 

*** 

Renley marched the familiar path to the Spymaster’s tower, her mind a tumultuous sea of new information. As Varric had said all those months ago, ‘Most people would have spread that out over more than one day’. 

She found Leliana looking over various letters at her desk, “Were we to meet tonight?”

Renley remained silent. She bit her thumb as she pondered the day's events, eyes glazing over. The encounter with Josephine in particular was still a mess being processed in her mind. 

Leliana looked up from her work, eyes narrowing as she took in Renley’s expression, “What’s going on?” 

“Why does Josephine have the contract from the House of Repose?” Renley focused her eyes and looked at the Spymaster. 

“What?” 

“Josephine found me today, contract in hand and a lot of questions to ask.” 

“Where did she get it?” Leliana scribbled on a blank bit of parchment as Renley made her reply. 

“One of your agents gave it to her.” 

She finished her note and attached it to one of her ravens. Once the message was secure about its leg, the raven flew, not through the window but directly down the stairs. A small commotion and a startled cry could be heard as the raven made its way through the library. Moments later, an Inquisition agent ascended the stairs, note in hand, raven perched awkwardly on his shoulder. He looked nervously between Renley and Leliana. 

“What happened at House of Repose?” 

“The mission went exactly as planned. We found the contract, we destroyed it. We were in and out before they knew we were there.” 

Leliana looked at him with a cold, deadly stare. The agent, to his credit, stood firm. 

“Bring the other agents to me.” 

“Yes, Sister Nightengale,” he saluted and hurried from the tower. The raven flapped away from his shoulder and returned to its perch. 

They waited in silence, until the creek of stairs announced the approach of the other agents. Four of them. Renley stood straight, folding her arms and observing. Leliana regarded them with an unsettling look in her eye. Renley felt nervous for them. 

“What happened at the House of Repose?” they stood in rigid form as Leliana sliced her gaze over their mask-like expressions. She turned to the one in the middle, “You.” 

“We found the contract and destroyed it. They never even knew we were there.” 

Leliana eyed the agent a moment. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to the next, “Well?” 

“We-” the agent focused on a spot just above Leliana’s head, “We were in-” 

Leliana drew closer until the agent had no choice but to look her directly in the eyes, “What. Happened.” 

The agent was practically trembling with fear. The other three remained perfectly still, not daring to so much as breathe. 

“We found the contract... I had it in my hands. But then... an assassin. He put a knife to my back. Told me he’d silence me for good if I didn’t deliver his message.” 

“What message?” questioned Leliana. 

“For the Inquisitor. They want to meet.” 

Renley raised her eyebrows, “And why are you just now telling us this?” 

The agent was practically whimpering, “I- I...” 

“Because he’s a coward,” spat one of the agents. Leliana silenced him with a look. 

“I didn’t know who I was more afraid of. The assassins... or you,” he glanced at Leliana, “I was supposed to deliver the message along with the contract to the Inquisitor but I... I panicked. And I left the contract laying out on my bed. Next thing I knew it was gone.” 

She stepped back and pointed to the stairs, “Get out of my sight.” 

Renley shivered, unnerved at the pure chill emanating from the Spymaster. The agents hurried away and Leliana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. It took a moment for Renley to find her voice again. 

“Well... fuck.” 

“It’s been a long week,” observed Leliana. 

“This whole year has been a long week.” 

Leliana sighed, "Was she angry?” 

“Josephine?” Renley scoffed, “You know... she’s kind of scary when she’s mad.” 

Leliana chuckled, “Josi is our Ambassador for a reason. She may shy away from more violent means but...” 

“But that’s not necessarily a weakness,” finished Renley, “She balances us out.” 

“Precisely.” 

Renley rubbed her eyes, exhaustion replacing the stresses of the day, “Well, today has been...” she paused, “I think I’ll turn in early.” 

“I’ll keep you informed.” 

“Thank you, and uh... don’t be surprised if she comes for you next. I _kind_ of made it all sound like your fault.” 

Leliana smiled, “Don’t worry about me. I can handle Josi.” 

“Well, that makes one of us.” 


	23. Gather Party

It was time to make preparations for their journey to the Western Approach. Alistair and Hawke had departed the previous morning with Scout Harding in their company. All that was left for Renley was to gather her companions. And, as she’d learned through her journeys in this world, she didn’t have to choose just three. 

Her day started like any other. She rose before the sun, dressed in silence and crept through  Skyholds empty halls. Cassandra waited for her in the dueling ring as they’d dubbed it. The torches lining the walls provided an intriguing ambiance. The clamor of their swords absorbed by the stone. No one would wake to the sounds of their training. It was almost intimate. 

Renley removed her gloves as their morning met its end, tucking them in her baldric. The anchor troubled her. It’s energy for the past week was a low thrum. Pulsing with each beat of her heart, almost as if it were sentient. Each pulse felt to Renley like a foreshadowing, an instinctual anticipation of events not yet known. She squeezed the mark with the thumb of her opposite hand, attempting to smother the sensation. 

“Is it troubling you?” asked Cassandra, echoing her thoughts. Renley recalled the moment at Haven from so many months ago. She’d asked the same of Renley, moments before their first war council. 

“It’s like it knows something,” replied Renley. 

Cassandra looked down at the mark, a crease in her brow, “The anchor is part of you. Perhaps what you are feeling is your intuition.”

“Perhaps,” she couldn’t deny. Many things weighed heavy on her mind. The argument with Josephine, the message from the House of Repose, the coming events of Adamant Fortress...

“Hawke and Alistair left for the Western Approach yesterday,” Cassandra eyed her carefully, “Do you worry for them?”

There was an ulterior meaning to her question, of that Renley was sure. Regardless, she had hit on one of the subjects that plagued her, “Yes. I do.”

“Hawke is very capable. And frustratingly elusive.”

Renley chuckled. Hawke had indeed managed to evade detection by Leliana and Cassandra successfully, albeit with assistance from Varric. And that was no small feat. But Renley didn’t doubt Hawke’s abilities. She doubted her own. If she wasn’t able to prevent their falling into the fade...

Cassandra placed a hand on Renley’s shoulder. The touch was a comfort Renley had grown accustom to. In fact, she craved it. The Seeker meant almost as much to her as Leliana did. They were her heroes, the ones she would turn to when all else failed. 

“She will be fine,” Cassandra assured her. 

Pale morning sun filtered in through the aperture. It would be a cold day in Skyhold. And there were still many things to accomplish before the following mornings venture. 

***

The Ambassadors office was a welcome respite from the chill of the day. A comfortable warmth radiated from the crackling hearth. The stain glass windows contributed to a dreamy lighting. Renley approached cautiously, the events of their last encounter fresh in her mind. 

The scratch of quill against parchment stopped. Josephine rested her chin on interlocked fingers and greeted Renley with a cold look, “Inquisitor?”

Renley cleared her throat, “Josephine.”

They shared an awkward silence. The smell of fresh parchment and lilies hung heavy in the air. The Ambassadors office was never without fresh flowers. They adorned the bookshelf, for her desk was always cluttered with piles of paperwork. 

“You know I tried speaking Orlesian to Vivienne the other day?” Renley made an attempt at breaking the tension. It could be considered a strength or a weakness, depending on the context. To her relief, Josephine responded positively. She covered her mouth and looked down in an attempt to conceal her amusement. 

“And how did Madame De Fer respond?” Josephine composed her features and looked back at her Inquisitor. 

“It was as though,” Renley lifted her hand, her fingers trying to pull the feeling into words, “Her eyes were knives, slicing into my soul-”

A laugh escaped Josephine, and Renley smiled, “She told me to  _ never _ try and speak Orlesian to someone who is  _ actually _ from  Orlais .”

The tension was successfully broken if Josephine’s laughter was any indication.

“I wish I had witnessed it. If your attempts at Orlesian are anything like your Antivan-” she chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, “Well, I can only imagine she didn’t find it as endearing as I do.”

“Not in the slightest,” there was a brief pause as they regained their composure, “I’m sorry.”

Josephine regarded her with hesitation. Perhaps she hadn’t fully forgiven Renley yet, and Renley hadn’t expected her to. Mistakes couldn’t be erased with jokes, try as though she might. 

“I’m sorry. I know why it was wrong. I know that it hurt you. And it won’t happen again,” she glanced at the Ambassador, gauging her reaction. Green eyes- no, grey? Renley still couldn’t decide, but her eyes softened as they met her own. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she looked at Renley another moment, then sighed. She stood and walked around her desk, folding her arms and leaning against it, “You will be departing for the Western Approach tomorrow?”

“Yes. First thing.”

“And you will be meeting the Champion of Kirkwall?”

Renley exhaled sharply. Such a formal title just didn’t sit right, “Yes, Hawke will be there.”

Josephine eyed her pointedly. Though familiar with the Ambassadors piercing stares, Renley felt her face grow warm. Clearly something was going unsaid, and she was expected to pick up on it. But how could she be expected to form so much as a coherent thought while receiving a look so stifling? The Ambassador took pity on her, and broke the silence. 

“So, it’s Hawke then?”

Feeling as though her insides were pouring out through her chest, Renley made her reply, “Yes.”

Josephine smiled softly, resting her hands on the desk beneath her, “It makes sense. It will be a nightmare at formal affairs, to be sure...”

Renley chuckled, “There isn’t an ‘it’-”

“ _ Yet _ ,” her eyes met Renley’s once more, “It’s only a matter of time, I think.”

***

The next stop was her favorite mage, the only companion she hadn’t made it to in recent days. Dorian liked to hang about the library in  Skyholds tower. It was peaceful. The shuffling of parchment papers, swishing of robes, low voices and hushed whispers. Natural light floated in on a gentle breeze in some areas. And still others were shrouded in shadow, the only light they’d see from the flickering flame of candles. Renley passed a table of specimens, hand drawn diagrams and open books accompanying them, and made her way toward Dorian’s favored alcove. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” he greeted her.

“Dorian. I have a letter for you.”

“A letter? Is it a naughty letter?” his guess brought a smile to Renley’s face, “A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?”

Renley laughed. Dorian was the epitome of wit, “No, unfortunately. But I could probably pull some strings. If that’s what you’re in to.”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” he accepted the letter and began to read, his expression growing darker with every word taken in. 

“ _ I know my son? _ What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so typical. I’m willing to bet this retainer is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to  Tevinter .”

“I would never allow that. That is, if you decide to go at all.”

“Oh, we’re going. Let’s meet this so-called ‘family retainer’. If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone!  _ You’re _ good at that. If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with a message that he can stick his alarm in his wits end.”

“Could you stand to wait a few weeks?” Renley eyed him hopefully. 

“Ah, of course. We head west in the morning,” Dorian considered a moment, “Yes, I think the retainer  _ could _ stand to wait a while. In fact, now that you mention it, the longer the better.”

***

Renley stopped by Varric’s spot on her way out of  Skyhold . As usual, he had emersed himself in his writing. She watched him before interrupting, wondering on the inner workings of his mind. After a moment, it started to feel creepy. She made herself known. 

“Hey, Varric. Ready for a long trip west in the morning?”

He looked up from his work with a twinkle in his eye, an idea  interrupted , “You didn’t think I’d let you and Hawke have all the fun without me, did you?”

Renley smiled, “An adventure is never complete without you and Bianca.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re only using me for my bow.”

“That and your storytelling abilities. Who else will immortalize us with words?”

Varric chuckled, “Then I’ll be sure to pack my quill.”

***

Sera’s room was a chaotic conglomeration of colors. A plethora of items ranging from arrows and boots to books and paintings were piled in the corner. Though the room was small, it didn’t necessarily feel that way. Perhaps due to the wall of windows or the careful arrangement of the clutter. Her space was comfortable yet intriguing. Renley felt as though she could spend hours rifling through Sera’s things. 

“Hey, you,” Sera greeted her.

“Sera, we leave for the Western Approach in the morning-” began Renley.

“Finally,” she stood and stretched, bones cracking in the process, “Theres only so many times I can listen to the bard's version of ‘Andraste’s Disciple’.”

A lute resting on the window seat caught Renley’s attention. She picked it up and faced Sera, a daring expression in her features, “How about a different song?”

Sera chuckled, “So you can sing, then?”

“Well... no. But that doesn’t matter if the words are right,” Renley clumsily strummed a note, “ _ Sera was never quite the- _ ”

Sera grabbed the neck of the lute, with a dangerous look in her eye. Renley laughed, “What? It’s one of her greatest works.”

“It’s the reason her ale has been tasting off this past week.”

Renley raised her eyebrows, “You’re  _ poisoning _ our bard?”

“Of course not. I’m not a lunatic,” Sera released the lute and relented a small smile, “I have an Inquisitor favor to ask.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just a little thing really. A little march around for some of your people. It’s nothing for you right?”

“Oh?” Renley smiled, her eyes alight in anticipation, “A Red Jenny thing?”

“Yeah...” Sera’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“I’m all ears.”

“I got a tip that some noble stiffs are arguing over the shell. Land swap. They’re getting little people beat up. So, I need you to go to your big table and send some people to walk through town.”

“The Inquisition is at your disposal,” Renley clutched the lute to her chest and made a slight bow. 

Sera wrinkled her nose, “You just keep getting stranger, you know that?”

“It’s just a tactic. Keeps the people on their toes,” in truth, Renley’s behavior was mostly due to nerves. They might be likened to bees more so than butterflies, swarming around inside and escaping now and then in the form of odd behavior and bad jokes. 

“ Pft . You really want to keep the people on their toes? Prank your advisors. That’ll liven the mood.”

Renley grinned, “Deal. But after we get back from the west.”

***

Renley found Leliana in her usual space, pouring over various documents at her desk. Ravens ruffled their feathers giving the odd squawk. It was quite ominous. The tower held an intuitive energy. If the war room was the heart, the Spymasters tower was the mind. The scheming that went on there trickled down throughout the ranks, making the Inquisition move.

“All prepared for the Western Approach?” Leliana asked. 

“Almost. Have you found the  arcanist ?”

“She arrived this morning. As eager as I remembered her.”

Renley smiled, recalling the brilliance of Dagna, “She’ll be a great asset.” 

“I’d expect so,” Leliana rose from her desk and pulled a bottle of brown liquor from its drawer. She poured two glasses and handed one to Renley, undoubtedly sensing her nerves, “Are you truly prepared?”

“No,” she clenched her jaw, trying her best to ignore the fits her mark was giving her.

“The plan is good-”

“The plan is weak. It’s too simple, anything can go wrong.”

“You can’t control everything. Especially when it comes to war,” Leliana leaned against her desk, looking Renley over with interest. 

Renley sipped her drink. It burned as it made its way to her abdomen, leaving a warmth in her chest that provided a fleeting comfort, “I wish we could tell Cassandra.”

“You know why we can’t.”

“I’m starting to forget.”

“Then let me remind you,” Leliana stepped forward in attempt to draw Renley’s eye, “Millions of lives are at stake. The fate of Thedas and beyond rests on our shoulders.”

“We don’t even know that going off script would mean failure-”

“Are you willing to risk it?”

Renley ran her fingers through her hair, eyes still glued to her glass. The brown liquid swirled in its container catching bits of light fragmented by the crystal. She exhaled, “No.”

They were working under the constraints of a predetermined outcome. They arranged things in a way that, if successful, less lives would be lost. But if they failed, the script at least would remain intact. 

Leliana placed a hand on her arm, giving her a cold calculating look, “If things don’t go to plan... you know who you will choose?”

Renley looked away, a sick feeling washing over her. It was all riding on her. There was no time to waver. No room for weakness. She met the Spymasters gaze, stomaching her discomfort and strengthening her resolve, “Yes.”

***

The undercroft of  Skyhold was one of Renley’s favorite places. It was a gaping hole in the side of the mountain made warm by the fires of the forge. The steady rush of water over its opening provided a comfortable atmosphere, disrupted only by the steady beat of Harrit’s hammer against anvil. 

The arcanist had brought equipment. They were menacing looking pieces, the functions of which Renley couldn’t begin to guess. 

“Hello there!” a small voice greeted her as she studied the tools. 

Renley turned to face the voice, “Hi.”

“ Oooh , you’re her. The Inquisitor. I’m Dagna.  _ Arcanist  _ Dagna . It’s an honor, Your Worship,” Dagna was... adorable. She radiated a wholesome pride born of an unparalleled curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

Renley beamed.

“Is that it? The hand-anchor-mark? It’s pretty. The Breach was pretty too... in a ‘destroy everything’ sort of way.”

Renley stepped toward Dagna and held out her marked hand. The glow reflected in her eyes, illuminating her fascination and making her look like a mad scientist. She looked up at Renley seeking permission to examine more closely. 

“Go ahead.”

She ran a finger over the anchor, “Wow. I didn’t expect it to feel warm.”

“Yeah. Keeps my coffee from getting cold.”

Dagna snorted, “What I wouldn’t give for an opportunity to explore the fade...”

“Well, I can’t help you with that... but I can do the next best thing. How would you like to come with us to the Western Approach?”

Dagna looked up, “Well, I’m no soldier-”

“Not to fight. To study. We’ll be dealing with demons, blood magic, fade rifts...”

Her eyes lit up at the word fade, “When you put it that way...”

Renley smiled, “Good. We leave first thing in the morning.”

***

Morning came quickly. Before she knew it, the horses were saddled, her party gathered, and it was time depart. Leliana caught her at the entrance to the great hall. An intimidating falcon perched on her arm. Renley eyed it nervously. 

“This is Ygritte. He’ll be  accompanying you on your journey.”

Renley looked at the bird, it’s eyes seemingly full of aggression and ill will, “I think Ygritte means to harm me.”

“Nonsense,” she lifted her arm and the falcon took flight, soaring high and circling above, “Send him to me after your encounter at the ritual tower.”

Renley watched as the bird swooped down and onto her saddle. The horse shook his mane in dissent, “You have a way with birds-”

“Focus, Renley,” the two exchanged a long look. They knew what needed to be done. And they knew the consequence of failure. For one of them, failure would take a much greater toll. But the other was not without worry. She had come to care for this fated outsider. For this unlikely Inquisitor who, like the Warden she’d met nearly ten years ago, held the fate of the world in her hands. 

“Nothing is beyond you. Do what needs to be done, and get back in one piece.”

And so, they ventured forth. Renley, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Dorian and Dagna. A handful of agents at their side. It would take nearly two weeks to reach the Approach on horseback with Alistair and Hawke roughly two days ahead. Renley felt a strange calm as they exited the mountain pass. The weather mild and the scenery breathtaking. And Ygritte the falcon flying high overhead, a herald of their approach on the west. 


	24. Blood and Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you can find the easter egg but I won't tell you what it's from.

“Sera, why would you assume I should use my training to assault an animal?” 

The Seeker questioned their Red Jenny companion. The group had become quite familiar over the past week. Subjects had ranged from the Inquisitions tactics to the maintenance of Dorian’s mustache. There was no shortage of banter when it came to these five. 

“What, the ‘punch a bear’ thing? I don't know, I just figured you'd want to know if you could? I mean, I sometimes pot an arrow just to see if I can hit something. Did Andraste say not to use your training for fun? Fun for you, I mean. Probably not fun for the bear. You've got some reach on you.” 

“No,” Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose, “No, Andraste did not specifically say one should not punch bears.” 

“Well. There you go, then?” 

“Where _do_ you get all your arrows, Sera?” asked Dorian, “You have hundreds.” 

“From your arse. That’s where.” 

“My arse should open up a shop. It’s apparently quite prolific.” 

“You getting this down, Varric?” called Renley, “It’s great material.” 

Sera looked back at Varric, scrunching her nose, “Stop doing that.” 

“Certainly,” he replied, “What is it?” 

“I can hear how you’re looking at me. You’re doing that thing where you describe what we’re doing.” 

“Narration. And you can _hear_ how I’m looking?” 

“That’s a thing. Just stop it!” Sera turned around in her saddle. 

“I will try my best not to do the impossible,” muttered Varric. 

Two large spires curtained the way forward. The path had grown arid, red rock formations growing larger with each leg of their journey. The canyon’s and buttes set Renley in mind of a western. She had the horse; all she needed was a bandolier and a wide brimmed hat. 

Ygritte swooped down, landing lightly on Renley’s shoulder. She’d grown fond of the falcon, in part due to its link with her Spymaster. 

“Your newest accessory is quite intimidating,” quipped Dorian. 

“Aw, Ygritte’s alright,” the bird ruffled its feathers in agreement. 

“Falcons are notoriously intuitive creatures,” began Cassandra, “They can sense mistrust and have unparalleled memories. A man with one eye told me that-” 

Dorian and Sera subtly steered their horses away, putting distance between themselves and Ygritte. Renley and Cassandra exchanged smirks. 

They funneled through the spires and entered a clearing occupied by Inquisition tents. A scout approached as Renley dismounted, “Ser,” they saluted and led her horse away. 

“Inquisitor, welcome to the Western Approach,” Harding addressed Renley. The camp came to life as the agents greeted the newcomers. 

“Scout Harding, how are you finding things?” 

“Between the sandstorms and the vicious wildlife? We haven’t made it far out here. One of my men got too close to a poison hot spring. And gave me a slightly delirious report of a high dragon flying-” 

Harding faltered at Renley’s expression, “-and I’m guessing by that look you’re giving me... the dragon wasn’t a hallucination.” 

Renley smiled wryly, “Walk with me.” 

Inquisition agents had their hands full already, tending the horses, orienting others to the site, greeting old friends. Some hauled crates of supplies brought by Renley’s reinforcements, the shuffle of their boots filling the area with small clouds of dust. The two navigated the bustle, setting their feet for higher ground. 

“Leliana keeping you busy?” Renley asked as they drew further from camp. 

“Between you two?” Harding exhaled sharply, “I wouldn’t change it though. This is where I want to be. Right in the middle of it.” 

Harding led her to a path of uneven natural steps rising in a steep incline. They ended at a rocky overlook. The perfect vantage point to observe the activity. 

“I have to ask,” Harding looked down at the camp still covered in shadow, “Why bring the arcanist?” 

“Dagna,” replied Renley, searching for the arcanist in the crowd, “I want you to take her under your wing. Show her how to handle herself in the field.” 

Harding looked up, a notch in her brow, “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you asked me to do.” 

Renley chuckled. She spotted Dagna at the requisition table, studying samples as a nearby officer eyed her with concern. 

“She has a brilliant mind. She’s been studying with the circle for nearly ten years. She’s contributed research and made break throughs. I want her to see the rifts up close. To see the anchor in action. I want to know what she could uncover. And-” Renley sighed, “-when we go down to the Deep Roads-” 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t surprise me.” 

“-what we encounter down there... things no living being has seen for who knows how long. I want Dagna with us. But she’ll need to be able to handle herself.” 

“I can teach her about field work but, the Deep Roads are a different beast entirely-” 

“Of which you are as capable as any of navigating.” 

Scout Harding considered a moment, “I’ll do what I can.” 

The sun broke over the canyon, bathing Renley’s eyes in light. She squinted, reluctant to turn away from the brilliant colors being revealed. Little by little, made all the more vibrant in contrast to the still shadowed areas. 

“But back to the matter at hand; we’ll carve a path, close some rifts, set up a few camps. We’ll go to the ritual tower, uncover plots, hopefully kill the bad guy. And once that’s settled, we take the old fortress-” 

“Adamant?” 

“No. The _other_ old fortress,” Renley smiled. 

“You mean Griffon Wing Keep.” 

“Yes. Once that’s done, well... we go from there.” 

“Understood, and be careful out there. This might just be the worst place in the world.” 

A mischievous twinkle lit Renley’s eye, “Are you worried about me?” 

Harding smirked, “Someone has to be. And try not to die. I don’t want to deliver _that_ report to Skyhold.” 

*** 

The canyon was full of life in the form of insects, reptiles and rodents, much to Ygritte’s delight. After successfully clearing the rifts and highway men, they left the canyon’s shelter and braved the desert. A steady warm wind enveloped them, met with no resistance for miles around, slithering dust particles across hard dirt. When it stopped, it was to a silence so complete and still, one might call it suffocating. A bead of sweat dripped down Renley’s back as she stopped to admire it. 

“The Veil has grit in its breeches here,” Sera’s opinion was somewhat less favorable. 

“We should find the ritual tower to the west,” stated Cassandra. 

A boot full of sand and a half hour later, the tower loomed in the distance. Like the bones of a great beast, ribs piercing the sky. A menacing ruin abandon in the dust. 

Alistair greeted them as they approached, “Glad you could make it,” there was an urgency in his words, “We’ve seen lights coming from the tower.” 

“Blood magic I’d wager,” Hawke greeted them with a nod, “You can smell it... or see the corpses.” 

“Well,” Renley raised her brow, “Let’s see what it’s all about.” 

“You take point,” Hawke replied, “I’ll guard your backs.” 

She gave Renley a sly smile that was returned with interest. And when she laid eyes on Varric, “Thank the Maker, Bianca is here.” 

“You don’t have to hide it, Chuckles. I know you missed me.” 

The tower was indeed a mess of fresh corpses and blood stains. It smelled of decay made worse by the heat. A flash of green sparked in the distance. A low growl of demons met their ears. 

Renley leaned toward Sera as they approached, speaking to her in a low voice, “Keep your eye on the leader and your bow ready. Don’t hesitate.” 

Sera nodded, a sharp look in her eye. They crested the stairs in time to see a Warden stab another in the abdomen. Blood spilled forth swirling in the air and spawning a fiery rage demon. 

“Good. Now bind it, just as I showed you,” a mage watched over the ritual, his disposition the embodiment of a crook, complete with pointed goatee. 

“Inquisitor,” the mage greeted them as they approached, “What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service,” Erimond bowed obnoxiously, twirling his arms and dipping his head low. 

“Now that’s a mouth full,” observed Renley. 

Alistair stepped forward, “I’m guessing you’re not a Warden?” 

“But you are,” Erimond sighed, “The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?” 

“Get on with it,” replied Renley. 

Erimond sneered, “Wardens. Hands up! Hands down,” the Warden’s mimicked him. He placed his hands behind his back, a smug look on his face. 

“Corypheus has enslaved them,” spat Alistair. 

“They did this to themselves. You see, the calling had the wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help-” 

“Including Tevinter,” Alistair cut his gaze across the mage. 

“Yes, and since it was my master who put the calling in their little heads. We in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads and kill the old gods before they wake.” 

Renley stayed silent. Steeling herself for a fight. 

“Sadly, for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master's slaves. This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual. The army will conquer Thedas.” 

“Come closer, Erimond,” Renley placed a hand on her dagger and edged forward, “Let’s have a talk.” 

Erimond lifted his hand. The anchor began to spark and burn, the pain enough to make Renley take a knee, “The Elder One showed me how to deal with you. In the event you were foolish enough-” 

An arrow struck Erimond in the chest, breaking his hold and knocking him back, “Kill them!” he staggered away as Wardens and demons surrounded them. Renley weaved through the enemy as her companions began to fight. 

Erimond neared the bottom of the stairs as Renley started down. He glanced over his shoulder. Facing Renley briefly, he sent a bolt of red light at her. She dodged and continued her pursuit. Down the stairs and into mounds of shifting sand. 

She rounded the corner to find Erimond facing her. Her dagger flashed in the sun as she unsheathed it. Renley advanced, eyes glued to Erimond as he pulled the arrow from his chest with a grunt. He placed his hand over the wound and rubbed it, covering his palm in blood. 

The Tevinter mage reached his bloodied hand toward the sky, gathering mana. A red glow growing brighter in his fist. His face contorted with rage, illuminated in the light of his spell. A low resonance vibrated underfoot as the spell gathered power. 

Renley felt a tug at her clothes. Sand skittered past, stinging exposed skin, anything not rooted down attracted to the mage with magnetic force. She rushed toward him desperate to strike the killing blow. Feet sinking deep in the sand like running in a dream. 

Strong arms caught her around the middle as Erimond released his spell. Renley landed hard on her back, an armored body pinning her down. The resonance released with a tremulous boom. She turned her head, closing her eyes tight as an explosion of hot sand rushed past, moving like sandpaper over her cheek. 

Renley coughed as the dust settled. There was sand everywhere, in her eyes, her nose, her shirt. The body that had tackled her moved to the side and Renley rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself upright. Erimond was gone. She ran her hands through the sand, frantically searching for her dagger. 

“Looking for this?” Hawke stood above her, offering the handle to Renley. 

Renley accepted the blade and made to follow Erimond. A hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back. 

“Let him go. He won’t be hard to track with that wound.” 

Renley scanned the horizon. Erimond was nowhere to be found. But blood loss would have to slow him down at some point, “We need to finish him-” 

Hawke held fast, “Hold on, then-” 

“I should’ve chosen archery-” 

“Look at me,” Hawke pulled her around and grabbed the sleeve of her free arm, effectively hindering her pursuit. She eyed Renley with mild concern, “You’re a mess.” 

Hawke looked her over then folded her arms, pitching her voice an octave higher, “And you’ve got sand all over your doublet. What will the nobles think?” 

Renley made to smile, but her cheek wouldn’t allow it. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, “Son of a bitch, that burns.” 

A shout drew their attention. Hawke and Renley hurried back to the tower. They arrived just in time to see Alistair strike down the last demon. 

“Did you get him?” he asked as he pulled his sword from the melting abomination. 

“No. He fled east,” said Hawke. 

“There’s an abandon Warden fortress in that direction. Adamant,” Alistair wiped the demon ichor from his blade. 

“Let's scout it out, Alistair,” suggested Hawke, “With any luck, we’ll come across Erimond bleeding out in the sand.” 

“Either way, we’ll confirm if the Wardens are there,” he agreed. 

“Meet us at Griffon Wing Keep when you’re done.” 

The group collectively turned to look at Renley. She raised her eyebrows, “Did- did I not tell you guys about the keep?” 

*** 

The five companions made their way north. The sun, though still high in the sky, had started its descent, bringing about the hottest part of the day. They paused at a spot shaded by spindly trees. The keep loomed far on the horizon. 

“A place to set up camp, perhaps?” asked Dorian. 

“As good as any,” replied Renley. Ygritte swooped down and landed lightly on her shoulder, “Hello, there,” she greeted him politely, “I’ve got a job for you.” 

She sent the falcon to Scout Harding, asking her to mobilize the scouts to their position. Ygritte returned not much later with a message stating they’d be at the Inquisitor’s location by night fall. All that was left, was to wait. They made a fire as the sun began to set. The approach cooling quickly as day gave way to night. 

“Is it painful?” Cassandra nodded to Renley’s burn. 

“Yeah, sand can be a real bitch.” 

“Sand did that? I figured your bird attacked you,” replied Sera. 

“Ow, don’t make me laugh right now.” 

“Step aside all. This is a job for a mage,” Dorian waved his staff with dramatic flair and wiggled his fingers at Renley’s cheek. She placed her hand over her mouth and pulled the corners of her lips down, trying not to smile. 

“Hey! Watch where you're pointing that!” Sera eyed Dorian nervously. 

“What? This?” Dorian waggled his fingers toward Sera. She pulled her bow and nocked an arrow. 

Cassandra shook her head, smiling to herself as she turned away to tend the fire. 

Dorian threw his head back and laughed, “I can’t believe _you’re_ scared of magic, Sera. It’s a gift as mundane to me as your bow to you. Surely you see there’s nothing to fear in a properly used tool?” 

“Tell that to all the proper mages wavin’ their tools in people's faces!” Sera put her bow away and crossed her arms. 

“Now there’s an image.” 

“What about Coryphemus? How many ‘proper tools’ does he have under him?” Sera continued, oblivious to the innuendo. 

“Not nearly enough if you ask me,” Varric chimed in with a chuckle. He leaned casually against a boulder, sipping from his flask. 

“And the rebel mages? How many ‘proper tools’ have they raised?” 

Tears were streaming from Renley’s eyes, as she held fast to her cheek, trying her hardest to keep from flexing it. 

“That’s not-” began Dorian, “I don’t think I can continue.” 

“Right, well, I don’t care how gifted you are,” Sera’s eyes flashed, “Don’t cram it where it’s not wanted.” 

Beads of red formed on Renley’s cheek as she lost control of her laughter, “Stop. Please stop.” 

Dorian clucked his tongue as he approached, “Let’s get this taken care of.” He took Renley’s chin between his fingers, turning her face to examine the effected cheek. A warm sensation flowed from his fingers providing her with an instant sense of relief. He released her and Renley rubbed her hand over the now smooth skin. 

“There we are,” Dorian admired the result, “Can’t have our Inquisitor getting any _more_ scars, now can we?” 

“How _did_ you get that scar anyway?” asked Varric. 

Renley squeezed her chin, thinking, “That’s a good question.” 

“You mean you don’t know?” asked Sera. 

Cassandra looked over her shoulder. All eyes were on Renley, waiting for an answer she didn’t have. 

“No. I don’t remember.” 

A low murmur put the companions on guard. They looked to the sound of the noise, a large shape taking form in the dusk. 

“The scout's approach,” declared Cassandra. 

Around twenty agents materialized on horseback, supplies for a camp in tow. 

Renley addressed them as they dismounted, “We’re taking the keep tonight. It’s over run with Venatori. There won’t be a way to do this quietly. They’ll be able to see us coming from all around. We go in from the front. We take it by force. Any questions?” 

“No, Inquisitor,” they chanted back. 

She turned to her companions, the last rays of sun disappearing behind her, “Ready?” 

*** 

Taking the keep proved a bloody battle. But they managed with no casualties, and only a few lasting injuries. The worst being an arrow to the knee of an agent with graying hair. ‘Looks like your adventuring days are over’ an officer had told the agent. 

With the keep secure and the Inquisition flag flying high, the scouts and companions took the night to unwind. Drinking by the fire, playing a round or two of wicked grace, partaking in the general debauchery that tended to follow a hard fought battle. 

A small figure flying across the half-moon caught Renley’s eye. She made her way to a balcony overlooking miles of sandy dunes. And the stars... she might never get over the stars in Thedas. 

She pulled a small roll of parchment from her pocket. Ygritte landed on the banister before her, an item disappearing into its beak that looked suspiciously like a rat tail. 

“I hope you’ve had your fill. You’ve got a long journey back to Skyhold,” she secured the parchment to his leg and he took flight without hesitation. 

“What is it about you and forts?” 

Renley tore her gaze from Ygritte’s retreating form to see Hawke strolling toward her. 

“ _I_ _know_ ,” Hawke continued. She folded her arms, leaning her hip against the banister, “You’re just trying to impress me with your tactical prowess.” 

The dark was sufficient to hide the warmth creeping into Renley’s cheeks, “Eh, you don’t seem like the fortress type.” 

“No?” 

“No, you-” Renley pointed at her, “You definitely like poetry and-” 

Hawke laughed, “Good at reading people, are you?” 

“The best, actually. It’s why they made me Inquisitor,” Renley shifted her stance, subtly inching closer. The faint noise of celebration, an exclamation over cards, the clinking of bottles, the gentle song of a lute, provided a comfortable atmosphere. All growing fainter as the blood rushed to Renley’s ears. 

“Actually, if I remember right,” Hawke straightened up and rested her arm on the banister, “They made _you_ Inquisitor because they couldn’t find _me_.” 

“And... here we are,” Renley’s heart pounded against her ribs. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Hawke could hear it. And perhaps she could, with the look she was giving Renley. Yet still, she was filled with doubt. The connection she felt could very well be one sided. But it wasn’t in Renley’s nature to dwell. Decisions were made all at once... that is, when the fate of thousands weren’t depending on them. 

She stepped closer, grabbing the waist of Hawke’s coat. She exhaled softly as she felt a hand move from the banister and up her arm. Night closed between them. Renley could feel the warmth of her skin, hear her gentle breathing. A soft smile graced the corners of her lips as anticipation mounted. So close now she could feel her breath.

A hand applied gentle pressure to her chest. Renley blinked, her reverie fading fast. She pulled back and looked at Hawke, “Oh.” 

She released her jacket and stepped back biting her thumb as realization hit her like a ton of bricks, “ _Oh._ ” 

“It’s not-” Hawke began, a strange tone to her voice. 

“No. It’s fine. You don’t have to-” Renley gesticulated. 

“It’s just- I mean... I’m always getting into something-” 

“It’s part of why I like you so much,” Renley looked at her with a sheepish smile. A heavy silence fell between them. The tension punctured Renley’s high, leaving a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She exhaled sharply and stretched awkwardly, “Well, I’m gonna- definitely have another ale.” 

The sounds of the night seemed to come back all at once. As she set her feet for the festivities, Renley felt a vague sense of shame. And fingers. Fingers grabbing the collar of her shirt as she drew parallel with Hawke. Tightening their grip and pulling her close. And then a blow against her head as they collided. Skulls cracking together painfully. 

Renley groaned, feeling her brow with her fingers, “Was my apology not enough?” 

Hawke laughed; fingers still tangled in Renley’s shirt collar. She ran her thumb across the point of contact. The area was already beginning to bruise. Renley smiled at the touch, realization of what had happened dawning on her. 

“We’ll try this again later,” Hawke said in a quiet voice. 

Reluctant fingers released her waist as Hawke left Renley on the balcony. She leaned an elbow on the banister and watched her go, goofy grin fixed on her face. 

“Andraste’s balls-” 

“Ah!” Renley exclaimed and turned around, “Sera!” she hissed, “What are you doing!?” 

“What? It’s not my fault you decided to woo Hawke in front of the latrine,” Sera shook a bit of sand out of her sleeve as she approached. 

“This is a secluded balcony!” 

“Noo... it’s the _latrine_ balcony.” 

Renley ran her hands through her hair, breathing deeply as her heart rate slowed. Her mind was still racing, processing the events from moments before. 

“No matter,” Sera nudged her arm, “Sounds like your _in_.” 

“Yeah,” Renley relented a small smile, “Yeah, I think so.” 

Sera eyed her in amusement, “Come on. Let’s go get trashed.” 

"You don't have to ask me twice," Renley chuckled, "Good shot by the way. At the ritual tower."

"Could have been better," Sera replied with a dangerous look in her eye, "Next time I'll aim for the face."


	25. The Still Ruins

Twelve days is how long it took the companions to arrive in the Western Approach from Skyhold. According to Cassandra, a good messenger bird could make it in half that time. Assuming Inquisition soldiers left the day after the message was received... well they had some time to kill. And why not start with the basics?

The Approach, in Renley’s mind at least, could be summed up with one word. Extreme. From the scorching heat of the day to the frigid chill of the night. Fearsome creatures such as quillbacks and  varghests , natural hazards of  sulphur pits and unpotable water. Harding had tried to warn her that first day in camp, when she had surmised it was the worst place in the world. But Renley was blind to its flaws. The desert to her felt full of life and possibility. In regards to one thing in particular. 

The companions rose with the sun and set out in search of rifts, camp sites,  Venatori and any other sort of trouble that happened across their path. Harding had provided a map marked with points of interest, making finding said trouble an easier feat. Come early afternoon, they had managed to close four of the eight rifts listed. 

“Perhaps we should stop at the next camp,” suggested Cassandra, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow. 

Renley squinted at the sun, marking its position in the sky, “I second that.”

“If I sweat anymore, I’ll have nothing left,” Dorian fanned his shirt against his skin. 

“The forward camp’s not far,” Renley pushed her hair back from her face, “Maybe we’ll find a stream on the way and I can throw myself in it.” 

“I bet even the water here is boiling,” Sera seemed to be the only one of them not melting. In fact, she had complained about the sand more than the heat. 

“I’d be more worried about the things in the water,” replied Varric. 

“Right,” Renley looked around. They were back in the canyon. But where, she couldn’t say. She looked at the sun again. It was directly overhead, “Um...”

Four paths stood before them. One leading back the way they came. Three going off in different directions. Renley consulted the map. 

“Okay. We just came from...”  _ Where? _ She turned a circle. The paths looked remarkably similar, “Wasn’t that tree over  _ there _ earlier?”

“Let me see,” Cassandra took the map and examined it closely, “There is where we were,” she pointed to a spot on the map, “And...” she looked over her shoulder, then back at the map, bringing it closer to her face, “Wait.”

“You southerners and your lack of directional awareness,” Dorian swaggered over to the pair and leaned over the map, “Clearly, we’re right...” he creased his brow and snatched the map from Cassandra’s hands, bringing it up to his nose. 

“I was looking at that,” Cassandra scowled and reached for the map. 

Dorian jerked it out of her reach, “And getting us nowhere.”

“ _ You’re _ getting us nowhere,” Cassandra grabbed at the map. Dorian held it above his head.

“Guys-”

“Oh! Good one, Seeker. Your words wound me, truly.”

“ _ Guys. _ ”

Dorian kept the map from Cassandra’s reach, becoming more amused with each passing moment, “You’re  _ cute _ when you’re angry-”

Cassandra’s eyes flashed, a clear warning sign that two of their number had grown to fear. Varric and Renley exchanged looks, worried for their mage friend, yet slightly impressed at his audacity. 

“Guys!” Sera called for their attention, yet again. But the thing that finally got through was a ball of fire. Hitting the map and disintegrating it into ash. A group of  Venatori emerged, surrounding them on all sides. 

Dorian spun his staff from his back, bringing it down before him with force. Electricity erupted in the clearing with a near blinding flash of light, striking any  Venatori within range. Sera and Varric took enemies down with speed and precision, and for the few who made it through, it was all up to Renley and Cassandra. 

It had been a long time since Renley had fought by Cassandra’s side. Their extensive training had made them familiar with each other's fighting styles in a way that made them a deadly duo in the field. A warrior would trip into Renley’s dagger as Cassandra out maneuvered them. A rogue would try to flank, only to catch Cassandras sword to the face as Renley ducked last minute. 

And for the finale; Renley flipped the last  Venatori onto their back, where Cassandra brought her sword down in full force, piercing his abdomen. Renley looked up as the dust settled. The Seeker’s sword still skewered the body to the ground, but the Seeker herself was marching toward their mage, a dangerous look in her eye. 

She grabbed Dorian’s shirt and pinned him to the canyon wall. Renley clapped her hand to her mouth and looked to Varric. They stifled their nervous laughter to the best of their abilities as they looked on, fearing for their mustachioed companion. 

“I could cripple you with a wooden sword. You’d have splinters in places that only the Maker himself would be able to remove.”

Dorian swallowed hard as the Seeker eyed him, practically nose to nose. She released him and returned to her sword, pulling it from the  Venatori’s abdomen with a spurt of blood. Renley and Varric were now beside themselves with amusement. Collapsed in fits of silent giggles. 

“Right,” Dorian straightened up, wiping dust from his shoulder, “Don’t piss off Cassandra. Got it.”

Sera shivered audibly, shaking out her arms as it rolled through her spine. 

“The  Venatori came from this direction,” Cassandra sheathed her sword and started down a path. Dorian gave her a wide berth as she passed. 

The path led to a clearing full of trees and abandon supplies. At first it appeared to be a dead end. But just above the trees, as Sera pointed out, were sharp stone spires. 

“It looks  Tevinter ,” observed Dorian as they drew closer. 

“Should we look inside?” asked Varric. 

A menacing stone structure towered over them barring their path. Its ornate steeples supported by large stone set in intricate patterns. The building was hauntingly beautiful if not decrepit. A  Tevinter gothic, abandon in the middle of nowhere. 

“It feels like Redcliffe castle,” Renley told them, “When the  Venatori were there.”

“Well, there were  Venatori here , ” Dorian considered, “Perhaps they were conducting research?”

“I don’t have the energy for this,” Renley sighed, “Let’s come back in the morning.”

With the sun starting to sink, they finally had an idea of which direction to go in. They were able to follow the sun out of the canyon. And once they were in the open, Griffon Wing Keep loomed on the horizon. They made toward it with tired feet and sweat-stained clothes. Renley was eager for the day to be over. For the sun to go down and the air to grow cool. And to be back around the fire, where possibility would surely give way to opportunity. 

***

Back at the keep, Renley leaned against a low stone barrier, sipping from a horn of ale and observing her companions. She watched as Dorian approached Cassandra, a steaming tankard of mulled wine in each hand. 

“Here,” Dorian offered her a tankard, “A peace offering.”

Cassandra huffed and accepted the wine.

“Still don’t like me, Cassandra? After all this time?”

“Why does it matter? We are different in every possible way.”

“Not every way. There is my family.”

“Your family of slave owning imperial magisters?”

“Ghastly, isn't it? Toss it all on the fire and be done with it, that’s what I say.”

Cassandra chuckled, “Very well. There is that.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Dorian bumped his mug against Cassandra’s and they drank. Renley smiled at the pair as they partook in idle conversation. Dorian’s charm even producing a chuckle or two from the Seeker. 

She looked to the fire, where Varric was talking with Sera, Bianca in his lap. 

“Who names their bow?” asked Sera, “It’s just a thing. That’s stupid.”

“It’s a crossbow. One of a kind. And far smarter than current company.”

“Oh, kiss it already. And tell Booty, Coaty and... other Booty, I’m  _ real _ sorry.”

“We’re a very forgiving family.”

Another conversation caught her attention. She turned to the requisition table where Dagna and Harding were engaged in a rather one-sided conversation.

“-and to that matter, we can safely hypothesize that lyrium, in its untainted state, possesses organic properties. Meaning the implications of its origins could be so much greater than we realized. Take the  _ location _ of  lyrium into account and we might even assume-”

Harding turned to Renley as if in a daze, eyes practically screaming for help. Renley huffed in amusement. 

“I thought you had a sore spot for mages.”

Renley pricked her ears, tuning out the others and focusing on Hawke’s voice. 

“No, not at all,” replied Alistair, “One of my all-time favorite people was a mage. Very grandmotherly. She was with us in the fifth blight.”

Hawke snorted, “Grandmotherly? And fighting in the blight?”

“Yes,” Renley could hear the amusement in Alistair's voice, “But she was a mean fighter. And had a wit like no other. I remember vividly when we were in Orzammar, petitioning the dwarves for soldiers. She turns to me, Wynne her name was, and she looks me dead in the eye and says; Alistair, now that you’re in an intimate relationship-”

“Wait, wait, what? An intimate relationship?”

“At the time, when we were running around in  Denerim , I had met this girl-”

“Where is she now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We lost correspondence quickly, you know with the whole blight thing.”

Hawke chuckled, “Go on, then.”

“Where was I? Right, Wynne turns to me and says; Alistair, now that you’re in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies come from-”

Hawke howled with laughter.

“She said, I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms... but that's not true. Actually, what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other-”

“Andraste’s taint, what did you say?” Hawke replied voice shaking with laughter. 

“What do you say to something like that? She just went on to tell me it was cute that I was blushing. Ah, she was a vile old wench. But I loved her dearly.”

There was a break in the conversation as they regained their composure. 

“Oh, Maker, that’s good...  So, you really never saw her again?”

“Who, Wynne?”

“No. The girl.”

“Right. No I... I’d always assumed she’d died in the battle of Denerim.”

“That’s bleak. Do you regret it?”

Another pause, “No. And honestly, if it weren’t for me being a Warden, I might’ve tried to find her. Might still try one day. Just to see how she’s doing.”

Renley set down her ale, and made her way down the stairs. Merchants had set up shop in the lower level of the keep. Large sheets of burlap crowned the square in effort to shield the sun. At night, they only served to block out the stars. She stepped out of the keep; the massive door that had marked its entrance reduced to sad splinters. 

She sought the silence of the desert. Just far enough from the keep that its noise wouldn’t intrude. The night was young, the winds still warm, the last rays of sun disappearing over the horizon. She waited, wind rushing past her ears, filling the void, making all seem smaller. And then  it relented. The silence enveloped her.  Its completeness bringing with it a strange comfort. A profound feeling of liminality.

Soft footsteps reached her ears. Somehow, she knew who it would be. She didn’t move as they drew closer. Each step like kindling to her chest. Blood coursing through her veins with anticipation, waiting for a witty remark that would not come. The footsteps stopped, and she could sense the one they belonged to behind her.

Fighting through nerves, Renley turned. The wind picked up in full force as strong arms encircled her waist. Pulling her close as her hands wandered up worn leather jerkin to rest on soft skin. Their lips met and the tension released, replaced with a need for more. 

Renley smiled as they pulled apart. Nose to nose with the Champion of Kirkwall, stupid grin plastered across her face, Renley laughed once. She could feel Hawke’s smile against her lips, and then they kissed again. And many more times after that. And as was the nature of their relationship, things only escalated from there...

They returned to the keep in the late hours of the night. Renley crawled into her bedroll, drifting off to thoughts of warm hands and battle scars. And how they felt as they met her skin. Hours of intimacy had left her, if possible, aching for more. A longing that would not quiet. But thoughts eventually gave way to dreams. Dreams that, come morning, she was reluctant to leave. 

***

The companions left at first light in search of the  Tevinter ruin. Renley’s eyes were puffy with exhaustion, but a flame was alight in her chest. Images of last night danced through her mind, casting a dreamy expression on her face, and a soft smile on her lips. 

Her companions chatted idly as they braved the desert. Their spirits high in the crisp air of the morning. 

“Varric,” began Cassandra, “Does Hawke ever autograph books?”

Renley’s eyes lit up at the name. It didn’t go unnoticed by Varric. 

He smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and replied, “Why? Doesn’t your copy of ‘The Tale of the Champion’ have a big hole in it?”

“Yes... but it could also have Hawke’s signature on it.”

“Maybe you could ask the Inquisitor to have it autographed for you.”

A warmth crept into Renley’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the climate. 

“Why would I do that? When I could just ask Hawke at the keep?”

“I hear Hawke is  _ very _ busy these days,” said Dorian, “Has her hands full with her  _ Inquisition _ duties.”

“Pft!” Sera replied, “More like has her hands full with the Inquisitors-”

“Hey!” Renley grimaced, “Looks like we’re here. Let’s go get that... whatever it is. We were doing...” 

An eerie stillness fell over the clearing as they approached. They entered an intricate metal door and a bizarre scene met their eyes. Demons and mages frozen in the midst of battle. It was a sight to behold. Seeing the detail of the demons up close, the spark of a spell at its conception. Stones that had fallen from the ceiling, all stopped in time. 

“I don’t think this is the work of  Venatori ,” began Dorian, “I’d say some ancient  Tevinter decided to alter time.”

A fade rift sat idle in the center of the ruin, stopped mid transformation. Different from its typical ghostly shape, Renley likened it to a green crystal. Earthen, mineral...

“Ah, this is rubbish,” Sera eyed the rift, “Let’s do whatever and get out.”

They ventured still further. Sky opened up before them as they exited the main hall. A flight of stone stairs, as intricately designed as the ruin, led to a dusty courtyard. More demons and mages, unmoving, stranded in time. The most impressive of these being a mage, stopped  midflight , apparently being thrown through a wall. 

Across the courtyard stood another building, a dramatic door of iron guarding its contents. A large circle notched with five squares marked the doors surface. 

“Keystones,” said Renley, “Just like back at Redcliffe.”

Dorian groaned. He was the only one of them who remembered the cumbersome task of opening the door to the throne room, “Do you suppose it’s worth it? We could leave them here. Frozen in time?”

Renley considered. It was a tempting offer. 

“We must put things right here,” declared Cassandra, “We’ve learned the consequences of meddling with time.”

Renley sighed, “Let’s split up then. Looks like we need five keys. Cassandra and I will start over here. You three... go over there.” 

And so, the party was split. Cassandra and Renley made their way to the east side of the courtyard. They approached a mage with a large slab of stone tucked under one arm, his other extended toward a demon. Renley tugged at the stone. 

“So,” began Cassandra, “I take it things with Hawke are-”

Renley smiled, “Cassandra I sent those three to the other side of the courtyard to avoid this exact conversation.” she tugged at the keystone again, putting the full weight of her body into it. The mages grip was sure. 

“I see. It didn’t make tactical sense to send our ranged companions without a swordsman.”

“Oh... yeah you have a point,” Renley gave one last heave and the keystone came loose with an odd popping sound. She examined the stone and to her horror, four fingers had come with it. She dropped it in alarm. Cassandra picked it up, flinging the fingers off and tucking the stone under her arm. 

They made their way up a small flight of stairs and into a sizeable room. It looked to be a study area. A terror demon held the next key. 

“So that’s why you were in so late last night. You were with Hawke.”

A strange mixture of flutters filled Renley’s stomach. On the one hand, she was uneasy at the Seekers line of questioning. But the mention of last night, the hours spent with Hawke, dulled the discomfort and set her mind in a haze.

Cassandra leaned against the door, observing her with a sly smile, “Take every moment you can.”

Renley raised an eyebrow at her.

“They can be so fleeting,” the ghost of a memory swept over Cassandra’s expression. 

She looked down at the second keystone. A skull was carved in its surface. Glowing blue inlays casting it in sinister shadows. 

Every moment. The choice. Alistair. She furrowed her brow, a sliver of guilt creeping in to her gut. Cassandra had told her they must make difficult decisions. Leliana had told her to make them in advance. But they were both wrong. It wouldn’t come to that. No one was entering the fade. 

“Are you-” 

“What have we here?” a gravelly voice interrupted their moment. 

Their swords were drawn in the blink of an eye. Before them stood a  Tevinter mage, complete with pointed armor and puffed pants. The mage towered over them, his spear-like staff not even reaching his jawline. The keystone in his hand looked small by comparison. 

His staff came down in a flash. Cassandra acted instantly, grasping her sword with both hands, and stabbing it into the floor before her. Renley felt the energy release like waves around them. The Tevinter’s staff was suddenly just a spear. But he knew how to use it. 

He parried everything they threw at him. They’d barely managed to put a scratch on him, and Cassandra’s intervention was wearing off. The mage’s magic was returning. Renley dropped her weapons as the mage swung his spear around. She caught it. It jarred her hands like no other, but she held fast. Even as she felt the metal grow hot beneath her fingers. 

The mages eyes were just visible beneath his mask. Thin slits glowing blue as his mana gathered. They widened as he cried out in pain falling forward onto Renley. She felt a warm liquid soaking her leg.  _ Please don’t be pee. _ The mages head was jerked upward by the hair, a dagger slid across his throat. His weight went dead on Renley, pinning her against the ground, his spear pushing painfully into her chest. 

Renley pushed with all of her might against the spear as Cassandra pulled at the man's arm. She was able to scurry out from beneath him and take in the gruesome scene. The floor was a pool of crimson, supplied by the mages freshly severed leg. 

Cassandra looked her over, “I didn’t intend for-”

“It’s alright. Blood’s better than what I thought it was.”

More sounds of fighting drew their attention. They scooped up the keystones and ran to their companions. With the party reunited, they finished the remaining  Venatori with ease. 

“We found-” Dorian faltered as he took in Renley’s appearance. Her trousers were stiff with blood.

“You know they have things for that, right?” said Sera. 

“Let’s just do this,” replied Renley.

They opened the door with the recovered keystones and entered the sanctum. A staff with a skull at its point stood vertical in the middle of the room. A red orb above it that looked suspiciously like...

“Great, more blood,” said Renley, “Take the staff Dorian.”

“Me? You take it.”

“But you’re the mage.”

“Why take it at all? We shouldn’t go poking-” began Sera. 

“Fine,” Renley walked up to the staff and wrenched it from its shrine. A small explosion knocked her on her back. Stones began to fall from the ceiling. An eruption of noise reached them from outside. 

“Looks like times flowing,” called Varric. 

“I told you not to go poking!”

Renley jumped to her feet and tossed the staff to Dorian, “Let’s go!”

The battle was in full swing outside. Mages and demons littered the courtyard. 

“Get to the rift!” yelled Renley. They fought their way into the main gallery. The very ruin around them seeming to crumble in the chaos. The rift proved challenging. Many demons had spawned already. And with three groups fighting the battle, it was a mess indeed. 

But the demon's numbers dwindled, and the rift weakened enough to be sealed. Renley raised the anchor feeling the energy gather. A force like hot wind hit her square between the shoulder blades. She rolled onto her side, gasping for air, and saw a second, large  Tevinter mage walking toward her. 

Renley groaned, gripping her  shortsword tighter and stumbling to her feet. This mage was clearly the leader, “Didn’t we kill you already!?”

“You will know my wrath. Face Lucanus and perish,” he barred his spear and advanced. 

“Ah, shit!” Sera sent an arrow for his head. Lucanus leaned back last second. The arrow missed it’s mark by mere inches. He sent a spell at Sera and hit her square in the chest, knocking her into a stone wall. She fell forward and moved no more. 

Renley rushed him, striking out again and again to no avail, “A little help here!”

“Hang on!” called Cassandra from a swarm of Venatori. 

Lucanus slashed at Renley with his spear. She arched backward; the spears point coming dangerously close to her face. Off balance and unguarded, the mage knocked her down once more with a spell so forceful it set her ears to ringing. Lucanus stood before her, an imposing figure silhouetted by rays of late afternoon sun. Light began to gather at the point of his spear, aimed straight for Renley’s face. 

She lifted the anchor, a storm of emotions swirling inside, channeled out and through her hand. It erupted in a blaze of green. Lucanus, eyes wide with panic, mouth open in a silent scream, dropped his spear as the power of the anchor damaged him. Then all at once, the green was gone. A blade burst forth from his chest, sealing his fate. He fell to his knees as Cassandra withdrew her blade. She stood over him, sword dripping rubies in the light of the sun. 

White spots filled Renley’s vision as she stood. Blood felt as though it were rushing to her feet. The wrong direction. Everything was moving in the wrong direction. A steadying hand grabbed her shoulder. She leaned against the Seeker as her vision settled. The rift was still open. She raised her hand, giving every last ounce to the anchor. And promptly blacked out. 


	26. Approach After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8kqiBONduxo

The Inquisitor had departed Skyhold with the last crescent moon. But her absence left no shortage of tasks for the Inquisitions Advisors. 

The Commander had his hands full with Skyhold’s fortifications and ever-increasing military forces. New recruits were still arriving, even after all this time. The Ambassador was neck deep in correspondence. Garnering favor of noble families across Thedas, inching ever closer to an audience with the Emperess. As for their Spymaster... 

Many people had but two eyes. Leliana had dozens. From the rough stone walkways of Redcliffe castle to the smooth marbled halls of the Winter Palace. Their Spymaster, unbeknownst to the other advisors, had a hand in these matters and more. 

There was the matter of Ser Barris and his Templars. The group had proven effective in the Hinterlands, but their new affiliation with the Inquisition had caused a murmur among their mage allies. And then there was the House of Repose. An assassin's guild with unknown intent, seeking the attention of the Inquisitor. 

“Sister Nightengale,” Leliana looked up as one of her agents ascended the stairs, a falcon perched on his shoulder. 

“Ygritte,” the bird flapped over to her desk, a small roll of parchment fastened securely to his leg. She removed it unrolling it between her thumb and forefinger. 

_Prepare for the worst._

A vague message. But it told Leliana all she needed to know, “Assemble the war council.” 

“At once,” the agent saluted, fist over chest, and hurried from the tower. 

Leliana readied two pieces of parchment. On one she wrote in careful imitation of Renley’s writing: _Sister, I am adamantly opposed to the goings on of this place. Please send retainers to collect me at your earliest convenience._

Another vague message, but it would provide the war council with enough information to act. And allow Leliana to steer the narrative. 

On the second, she wrote a message for Renley. With the message secured, and Ygritte on her arm, she made her way through Skyhold and into the courtyard. She watched as the falcon took flight in the light of a crescent moon. It was late, but there’d be no sleep. There were preparations to be made, debates to be had, and waiting. Always more waiting. 

*** 

Renley was vaguely aware of voices. Irritated voices, arguing and speaking over one another. 

“I’ve _tried_ that. I’ve tried _everything_. Whatever they were hit with-” 

“Try again-” 

Talons scratched against the leather of Renley’s baldric. Ygritte flapped his wings impatiently, heedless of the state she was in. He pecked at her chest, to better results. Renley opened her eyes, squinting against rays of sun. Flat on her back, covered in dust and blood, aching all over. And dry. Everything was painfully dry. 

“I’ll go to the keep while you stay with them-” 

“You won’t make it-” 

For a moment she wondered if perhaps a buzzard had mistaken her for a corpse. Then Ygritte swam into view, watching her with pitiless eyes. 

“We don’t have any options. It’s too hot out here-” 

“Night will be on us soon-” 

Ygritte fluttered to her knee as she wrenched herself to a sitting position. A dull ache throbbed at her side bringing a low groan to her lips. 

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra knelt down and looked her over. 

Dorian came quickly to her other side, “How are you feeling?” 

Renley reached for Ygritte's message, “Like I was trampled by horses.” 

She unrolled the parchment reading it through bleary eyes: _A fortnight from_ _receival_ _of this message. Steel yourself._

“The soldiers are coming,” Renley pushed herself upright, teetering dangerously as she found her feet. 

Cassandra placed a steadying hand on her arm, “We should send the falcon to the keep.” 

“Good idea,” Varric called over his shoulder, “We could really use an extra set of hands right about now.” 

Renley looked past Dorian and Cassandra. Varric was crouched next to Sera. She lay in the dust, perfectly still. 

“Is she...?” 

“She’s in the same state you were,” stated Dorian, “Whatever magic this mage was wielding is-” 

“We must get going,” Cassandra cut across, “We’ve not yet seen the dangers of the approach at night.” 

“And let’s hope we don’t have to,” Varric looked to the fiery mass of orange, dipping ever lower on the horizon, “Nothing good happens after dark.” 

An eerie breeze swept through the group, the light fading fast with each passing moment. 

“Does anyone have parchment? Or ink?” Renley looked around at her companions as they shook their heads. The sun was grazing the earth, showing no mercy in its haste to leave them. It seemed to issue a challenge; make it through the night and I will greet you come morning. 

*** 

Scout Lace Harding fully intended to make good on her promise to the Inquisitor. She would take this arcanist and mold her into a successful navigator of the elements with a quick eye and a quicker wit. That is, if she didn’t get them killed first. 

Dagna, though undeniably brilliant in matters of the arcane and beyond, was a handful to say the least. Their arcanist had a compulsion to talk through her findings. Walking through the uncharted approach came with a steady stream of descriptions and hypotheses. And then there was the sample taking. Dagna would risk life and limb for a sample. 

Suffice it to say; it had been a long week in the ‘worst place in the world’. A long, hot, varghest filled week. And Harding wanted nothing more than to sit by the fire, perhaps with a bit of ale, and do nothing. But it wasn’t meant to be. 

A familiar falcon landed lightly on her knee, roll of parchment attached awkwardly to his leg. Harding unrolled the message to an ominous sight. Written, or perhaps smeared, in blood, the message read as follows: _Help. Wound. East. Ren-_

Harding jumped to her feet and grabbed her bow. Ren. Renley, right? The Inquisitor had sent a message written in blood. And come to think of it, the companions were typically back before nightfall. 

An all too familiar voice addressed her as she fastened her dagger about her waist, “Where you hurrying off to?” 

“Dagna,” Harding adjusted arrows over her shoulder, “The Inquisitor needs help.” 

“What’s that now?” Hawke looked over at the pair from across the stairway. 

“She sent this note,” Harding handed over the parchment as the Champion approached. 

“Help. Wound. East. Ren,” Hawke read aloud, brow furrowed, “Alistair!” 

Their Warden ally came to their side, a bowl of mush in one hand, overly large wooden spoon in the other, “Hawke. Have you tried this lamb? It’s just like-” 

“Forget the stew. We’re going out.” 

“But I _just_ started-” 

“You’re _the_ Alistair?” Dagna gazed upon him with starry eyes, “The one who settled the kings’ meet in Orzammar during the Fifth Blight?” 

Alistair looked down with a crooked grin, “The very same. And who might you be?” 

Harding and Hawke exchanged a terse look, “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” 

Alistair sighed as he sat his bowl on the low stone wall. The three started toward the lower level of the keep, Dagna at their heels. 

Harding glanced over her shoulder and stopped, “Dagna-” 

“No worries. You won’t even know I'm here.” 

“The approach at night is a completely different terrain-” 

“Which is exactly why I want to go.” 

Harding studied the arcanist for a long moment. Not for one second did she believe Dagna could hide her presence. She wasn’t sure if she should call it fearless or reckless. Either way there was no denying the determination in her eyes. 

The four set out into the darkness of the desert. A rogue of great renown, a Warden with an empty stomach, a scout of unrivaled skill, and an artificer with an insatiable curiosity. An unlikely party united in a perilous quest. 

*** 

“We need to stay put.” 

“We know which way is west. If we follow it long enough-” 

“West leads further into the canyon.” 

“I don’t understand why we went east in the first place.” 

“The closest camp was east-” 

The debate had been brewing for some time. And they were no closer to settling now than when they started. It came down to two options; stay or go. Staying had its disadvantages, namely the lack of shelter and supplies. They were running short on water, their food scarce. Going wasn’t without its problems either. They could find themselves wandering straight into a predator's den, or at the very least become more dehydrated from the exertion. 

Renley looked to Sera. It had been hours without so much as a snore, “I don’t understand why she isn’t awake. _I’m_ awake.” 

“The injuries the two of you sustained were quite different. Yours seems to have stemmed from your use of the anchor,” Dorian sighed, “Sera, on the other hand, received a massive blow to the head.” 

“And you can’t fix that?” 

“If she were a corpse, I’d have her up in no time. But my skills as a healer are rather rudimentary, I’m afraid.” 

A shiver rolled through her shoulders. The night was growing ever darker, “Harding should have received our message by now. If we can make it out of the canyon, she’ll be able to find us easier.” 

“That’s assuming she could read it,” Varric voiced his concern. 

Renley cut her brow, “ _I'm_ sorry. Next time I slice my finger open I’ll do it better.” 

“Listen,” the group looked to Cassandra. Her ear tilted to the canyon, eyes searching for the noise. 

A low guttural growl filled the clearing. Thousands of years of evolution stirred in Renley’s blood as she beheld the sound. Fight or flight was activated, and there’d be no outrunning this beast. 

*** 

A good way from the keep, the party drew near the remnants of an old watch post. Now nothing more than a large pile of stones bordering a small tower that leaned precariously to the south. 

“So, our plan is just to walk east in hopes that we stumble across them?” Alistair, still downhearted at his meal cut short, cast doubt on their course. 

“Not exactly,” Harding kept close observation to their surroundings as they crossed the desert, “Ygritte, will lead us right to them. So long as they haven’t moved.” 

“Ah,” Alistair drawled, “Follow the bird, find the Inquisitor. Got it.” 

“Whatever the plan, let’s make it quick,” Hawke eyed the horizon suspiciously, “I don’t like the feel of the approach at night.” 

“It’s different, right? Like, well, night and day,” Dagna was of a completely different mindset than her companions, “The change in climate should bring out all sorts of different activity-” 

The party paid varying degrees of attention to her words as she went on, discussing fade touched animals and blighted creatures. The canyon was looming ever closer, but still there was no sign of the Inquisitor and her companions. Harding looked to the sky. Ygritte circled lazily overhead. 

“Aren’t you lot brave? Taking a moonlit stroll in Gunter’s territory?” 

The party turned to face a lone rogue, dressed in rags. The man was filthy, with greasy hair falling into his eyes, blood-stained hands fingering an even bloodier knife. 

Hawke drew her daggers and stepped toward the man. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man dragged his words out with a voice as sleazy as his appearance. More men appeared from the ruins, surrounding them and creeping closer. 

“Gunter requires a toll in these parts. The toll always gets paid,” the man grimaced at them, revealing a mouth full of yellowing teeth, “Or else.” 

“Sorry,” Hawke’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “Fresh out of coin.” 

The man's grip tightened on his knife, his lip curled into a sneer, “Blood will suffice.” 

Gunter’s men attacked with a ferocity that rivaled the meanest of darkspawn. The men were poorly equipped, wielding clubs and rocks, but they outnumbered the party three to one. They swarmed like ants, fighting through even the most severe of injuries. 

A series of small explosions shook the horde. Sounds of scraping stone and crumbling rock followed. The tower was falling, directly for the heap of fighters. A mass exodus ensued. Bodies desperately disentangled and scrambled from the path of impact. The tower hit the ground with a crash of sand and rubble. 

“Bloody breeches, what the fuck was that!?” a grumble rose from the Gunter’s. 

Harding looked to the former site of the tower. A small figure stood at its base. 

_“_ _Dagna_ _?”_

With a heavy grunt and a swing of his sword, Alistair resumed the fighting. The advantage gained from the distraction was enough for the party to draw even with the Gunter’s, and once the ratio was narrowed, they made short work of them. 

“Andraste’s cheeks,” Hawke called through heavy breaths. 

“Dagna,” Harding turned to the arcanist, “ _How?_ ” 

“You’d be amazed at how many materials in the approach are volatile.” 

Alistair approached Dagna with a glowing smile of approval, “We’ve really come full circle, haven’t we?” 

“So, you _do_ remember,” her eyes were bright with pride. 

“ _Do_ I? We journeyed all the way back to Calenhad tower for you, and Maker, am I glad we did. Might not be standing here otherwise.” 

“Is this gang prevalent in the approach?” Hawke turned to Harding, “Think our friends might have run into them?” 

“I’ve had eyes report on a group of wayfarers occupying the old ritual tower. And these guys fit the description. But as for whether or not the Inquisitor’s come across them,” she looked down at the spokesman, knife still clenched between grimy fingers, its blade caked in layers of old blood, “Let’s hope not.” 

*** 

The companions stood in a tight circle around Sera. Weapons barred, muscles tensed, waiting for the wielder of the deadly growl to make itself known. A flash of movement caught Renley’s eye. Not from the ground, however. From the sky. She wondered briefly if perhaps it was Ygritte. And then she saw the shadow. A massive black shape set against the star filled sky. Perched high on the canyon wall and glowering down at them with yellow eyes 

Renley felt as though her soul had left her body. She reached back for Cassandra with trembling fingers, “C- Cass...” 

The Seekers expression tightened as she looked to Renley. It was replaced with a grimace as she followed her line of sight. Speaking in barely a whisper, “Move-” 

A nasty screech filled the canyon. A reptilian shriek of such ear-splitting volume, it was crippling. The companions looked to the dragon as its roar came to an end. Its belly glowed with fire, steam pouring from its nostrils. 

“Move!” yelled Cassandra. 

“No time!” Dorian yelled back. He thrust his hands forward as flame burst forth from the jaws of the dragon. They were surrounded in an orb of fire. Sweat trickled down the nape of Dorian’s neck as he maintained the shield. The dragon’s breath relented, but the exertion of the spell had taken its toll on their mage. 

“Grab Sera! I’ve got Dorian!” Renley ducked her head beneath his arm and pulled him forward. He kept his feet but his weight was heavy. At this point, with Sera slung over Cassandra’s shoulder, and Dorian being steered like a drunkard, by a slightly less drunk friend, Varric was the only one with hands free enough to fight. They were weakened prey, being hunted by the apex predator. 

*** 

“So?” Hawke turned to the eastern horizon, “Shall we continue?” 

Harding looked to the skies, trying to spot Ygritte. Perhaps he’d continued on to the Inquisitor during their scuffle? She looked east to the canyon, eyes searching the darkness, hoping to spot a tiny black dot against the stars. Fire filled her vision instead. Like the sun had fallen to earth. Flames of an intensity so great, it could only mean one thing. 

“A dragon?” asked Alistair. 

“If I know the Inquisitor,” began Harding, “I’d bet anything she’s caught up in that.” 

Three of the party hurried forward. 

“Wait!” 

“Dagna,” Harding turned to her, “We don’t have time-” 

“We can draw the dragon _away_ from the Inquisitor. If they really are injured then it may be too dangerous to fight. But if we set bait-” 

“Yes,” Alistair nodded slowly, “Yes, that’s actually good thinking. We can’t protect the wounded _and_ slay a high dragon-” 

“Okay,” Harding exhaled sharply, “What do you need?” 

“Well, we already have the bulk of it,” Dagna looked at the carnage of their skirmish, “Now I’d say all we need is an accelerant.” 

The three looked at her blankly. 

“Get me some ghoul’s beard and deathroot and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

*** 

The companions made their way through the canyon as fast as their ailments would allow. The high dragon circled menacingly overhead. The flap of its wings stirring a storm of dust and debris. It was a race for their lives for which they were sorely outmatched. 

“We’ll never outrun it!” called Varric. 

“If we stop, we’re dead!” 

The end of the canyon was within their line of sight. What venturing into open space would accomplish remained to be seen. But the time for decision making was at its end. It was act or die. As they reached the mouth of the canyon, the dragon landed before them with a roar that shook the earth. 

“That’s it!” Cassandra called, “We must fight or fall!” 

They dropped their companions and stepped forward to accept their fate. Renley, Varric and Cassandra. The last line of defense in a hopeless situation. 

Renley readied her sword. Her eyes sought Cassandra’s. Fire reflected in the Seeker’s eyes. _Actual_ fire, her face illuminated as if by light of day. They looked sharply back to the dragon. A ball of flame rose at some distance behind it. 

“What is going on!?” Renley’s voice cracked. 

The dragon sniffed at the air; its interest piqued. It spread its wings wide and took flight in the direction of the explosion. 

The companions watched as its form retreated. 

“I take it back,” croaked Renley, “This _is_ the worst place in the world.” 

Varric pulled a flask from his coat and drank deeply. He mopped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand, “That’s an understatement.” 

“We’ve no time to waste,” Cassandra heaved Sera back over her shoulder, “Let’s make for the keep.” 

*** 

The party was well away from the bait by the time Dagna’s signal went up. They jogged still further as the fire hit the sky, the smell diffusing through the air with a suffocating potency. 

“Maker,” Alistair choked on his words, “That’s foul!” 

“What now?” Hawke turned to Harding. 

As if on cue, Ygritte swooped down from the sky and landed lightly on Hawkes shoulder. He pecked painfully at her brow and took flight. 

“Agh! Stupid bird...” 

“He’ll take us to the Inquisitor,” said Harding, “Let’s go.” 

The smell weakened as they ventured further into the approach, drawing ever closer to the canyon. A green aurora shimmered in the night sky. 

“Look,” Dagna pointed to a dark shape, moving on the horizon. The party quickened their pace, making haste for the slow-moving figures. 

“Ygritte!” the bird dove toward a familiar voice. The party converged with the companions, both sides relieved to see the other. 

Alistair took over for Cassandra, cradling Sera in his arms. 

Dagna approached Renley and Dorian, “Here.” She produced a small vile of blue liquid. Renley popped the cork and handed it to Dorian who was growing ever heavier against her side. 

“Ah...” his voice was a hoarse whisper, “Lyrium potion. I must carry these.” 

The color returned to his face as he drank, a semblance of bravado returning to his voice, “Right. Now that we’ve completed our tour of the worst parts of the desert...” he stumbled away, leaning heavily on his staff. 

Hawke approached Renley, taking in her appearance with a mixture of concern and revulsion, “Uh...” 

Renley looked down. She was caked in blood and dirt, her skin grimy with filth “None of its mine.” 

“Small comfort,” Hawke chuckled and hooked her arm around Renley’s neck, “Varric!” Hawke grinned as she laid eyes on him, “You haven’t a mark on you.” 

“They don’t call me the daring debonair for nothing.” 

“No one calls you that,” Cassandra responded. 

“Aw, Seeker... and just when I thought we were bonding.” 

The group started for the keep, the worst behind them. Eyes heavy with exhaustion, bodies aching from a night in the approach. 

“Harding!” Renley ducked out of Hawke’s arm and shuffled toward her, “Thank the Maker for you. I thought we were buzzard- well, dragon food.” 

“Don’t thank the Maker,” Harding clapped a hand on Dagna’s shoulder, “Thank our arcanist. She set the explosion that drew the dragon away.” 

Renley beamed down at Dagna, “I do love a good explosion.” 

“Explosion... in my head...” 

The companions whipped around to the sound of Sera’s voice. They gathered around Alistair. 

“Sera, are you alright?” asked Cassandra. 

“No,” she groaned in reply, “Feel like shit...” 

“The keep is close,” called Harding, “Let’s hurry back. I’ve had enough of this place.” 

The remainder of their journey unfolded without incidence. Back at the keep, Sera was tended by a proper healer, and Alistair was reunited with his lamb stew. The rest went straight to their bed rolls for a well-deserved long rest. 

But Renley lingered, in hopes another of their number would follow suit. She leaned against the balustrade, looking over the vast expanse of desert waste. 

“Well,” a familiar presence quickened her nerves, “You really stepped in it this time.” 

Renley looked down at her clothes, “I think I _bathed_ in it, actually.” 

A sly smile crept into Hawke’s eyes, “Let’s get you cleaned up then.” 

It was a short walk to the baths. At this time of night, they’d have no disruptions. Just privacy. And who needed sleep anyway? 


	27. Adamant Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the word 'fuck' is used in this chapter.

Cullen and his forces had left ten days ago. They would be arriving in the Western Approach any time. And Leliana could deny her nerves no longer. She feared for their Inquisitor. Not for loss of life, but for loss of peace. 

Renley, though nearly of three decades, held an air of innocence. She had worn the burdens of Inquisitor well thus far, but Leliana was loathe to see her return touched by true tragedy. It had happened to many she’d known. To Ursa, to Alistair, to herself. 

Fortunately for Leliana, she had meetings to distract from such thoughts. Unfortunately for Leliana, these meetings were with a representative of the House of Repose. 

She struck out in the night, cloak about her shoulders, bow across her back. The agents asked no questions as she led her horse onto the lift. Night grew darker as she descended. 

Frost bitten earth crunched under hoof as she snaked her way through the mountain pass. Breath fogged on frozen air. Clouds cast moonlit shadows across her journey. A cover Leliana was thankful for. 

Two hours ride from Skyhold stood a small village on the cusp of Sulcher’s Pass. Large enough for perhaps twenty, it served mostly as a gateway for resources from Lake Calenhad to Skyhold. In this village, a tavern called Stone Snow’s Pass hosted a stranger. 

Leliana entered the tavern, mostly empty at this time of night. It was a small room of wood and stone, dimly lit by flickering flame of lanterns. The barkeep eyed her cautiously, lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at the corner where the stranger sat, bathed in shadow. 

With a mask like expression, she approached the stranger. She peered into the dark, trying to take the shape of this person, but was only able to make out a pointed chin and full lips. 

“Well,” the stranger’s voice was the quality of satin, it’s inflection dripping with danger, “Who would be so daring as to deny the House of Repose?” 

Leliana waited, gathering the measure of the woman. She was met with silence in return. 

“You were a bard, I take it?” she watched as a corner of the womans lips twitched. 

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” the woman sat back, shadow enclosing exposed skin, “Though I’d expect nothing less of the Inquisition’s Spymaster.” 

Another beat of silence followed. Between these two sat secrets that could topple kingdoms. 

“What do you ask of the Inquisition?” 

“Only to see it’s Inquisitor.” 

The air was thick with caution. Leliana’s grip tightened around her dagger. 

A hand appeared on the table, sliding parchment forth from the shadow, “We _will_ see her. Be it by formal audience, or... other means.” 

The parchment was old, yellowing and fragile. And gone, almost before she could make out the writing. But one word stood out. Montilyet. The original contract. 

“There are matters at work here beyond even your control, Sister Nightengale,” the woman rose from her seat, leaving her shroud of darkness. Leliana caught a glimpse of piercing green eyes beneath a hooded cloak, “We will be waiting.” 

*** 

A small stone room of Griffon Wing Keep had been repurposed. Just big enough for a candelabra, a cot and a low wooden table. Waves of heat filtered in with the sun. Snaking through cracked stone to cast brilliant shades of orange against the wall at its opposite. 

Every night Renley spent there with Hawke. The exhaustion from days of fighting meant nothing once they were together. The consequence of the morning insignificant. 

Hawke radiated warmth. From her smile to her skin. She embodied it. It seemed to Renley as though she were molded from sun and clay. Sculpted but never hardened. Not truly. It was her favorite thing about the Champion. Laughter in the face of danger. Unyielding flame in impenetrable darkness. 

Between her legs, skin to skin. Renley wanted nothing more than to be consumed by it. To be taken in by her. Every ounce stolen and shaped beneath the heat. All she wanted was brown skin and weathered hands. Touching her without restraint. Pulling her always closer. The corners of her lips teasing a smile. And eyes like jars of honey. Eyes with a gaze so penetrating they’d make you question your own innocence. 

They lay together as their place of respite filled with shadow in the dwindling light of day. Renley ran her fingers over a scar on Hawke’s hip, “How did you get this one?” 

She looked down as if just noticing it was there, “Ah, yes. When me and my family were fleeing Ferelden in the fifth blight, we found ourselves surrounded by darkspawn. Genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks. We cut them all down. Must have gone through at least fifty before the Archdemon showed up-” 

“Liar,” Renley met her with a knowing smirk. 

Hawke’s eyes flashed with mischief, “Been reading up on me, have you?” 

“I tried, but the story was just so,” she brought her fingers up before her as if searching for the appropriate descriptor, “dull.” 

“I _told_ Varric to leave the Archdemon in. Missed opportunity,” her smile softened, the mischief in her eyes replaced with curiosity, “And what about you?” she ran a finger through Renley’s hair, brushing her thumb across the pale scar that cut through the edge of her brow, “Where’d you get yours?” 

Renley glued her gaze to the curvature of Hawke’s side, “I don’t know.” 

“How?” Hawke said through a widening smile. She traced the scar over Renley’s nose and down to her cheek, “I won’t press... it just seems a hard thing to forget.” 

“Well,” her eyes flicked to Hawke’s. She noted their interest, and it inflamed her. A spark was alight in her blood, and with all else forgot, she knew she wanted but one thing. To tempt her, “You see there was this Archdemon-” 

Hawke was on her in an instant. And the warmth returned with a fervor Renley had come to ache for. 

*** 

The day had come at last. A raven arrived at the keep heralding the Inquisition’s approach on Adamant Fortress. The companions along with Hawke and Alistair departed with the rising sun. Their course would set their arrival just before sundown. 

Terrain turned from sand and stone to rock and clay as they approached the fortress. Adamant stood small but strong, with jetstone walls and metal ramparts. Set against the edge of an abyss rumored to host caverns leading to the deep roads, appropriately named the Abyssal Rift. How fitting that the corruption of the Wardens would meet its end here. 

Hundreds of soldiers stood ready at its walls. Trebuchets lined their backs, hooked ladders at their front. A battering ram with a fist of iron and spike made its way through the ranks, shepherded by shielded agents. Wardens within the fortress were beginning to stir, preparing piles of rock and barrels of arrow. 

The companions found Cullen beneath a row of trebuchet. He stood with an air of authority befitting of the Inquisition's Commander. His greeting was stressed with restrained anticipation. Cullen was in his element, and it suited him handsomely, “Inquisitor. We move on your order.” 

She looked over her companions, eyes lingering on Hawke. Her expression softened. Renley felt the tension in her jaw ease, the hard line of her brow release. Pools of amber peered back. But the release of tension saw an eruption of flutters in her abdomen. She suffocated the sensation, and nodded to the Commander, “Signal the assault.” 

Hawke stepped forward to join the front lines. 

“A head start won’t help you,” Varric called after her, “I’ll still have more demons by the time this is over.” 

She grinned in response, “What a clever way to express your concern.” 

“Do you always have to be _right_ in the middle of it?” Varric creased his cheek. 

“Ah, admit it,” Hawke tilted her chin, “It’s your favorite thing about me.” 

“It’s giving me grey hairs,” Varric grumbled. 

She raised a brow at Renley before disappearing in a sea of soldiers. 

Flaming boulders careened through the air, striking the walls of Adamant and scattering Wardens. Soldiers chanted as they marched on the fortress, fiery arrows raining down among them. Siege ladders were hoisted into the air, soldiers clinging to the rungs with swords at the ready. Clamor of steel on steel joined the noise of battle as they breached the ramparts. 

The battering ram drew ever closer to the gates, flanked on either side by heavy shields and strong arms. The Wardens rained rocks and arrows on them, dwindling their numbers but unable to slow the advance. Three great heaves and the doors burst open with a shower of splinters. The Inquisition flooded Adamant and the battle took form. 

Stone rained down from the ramparts as Renley entered the fortress with her companions. 

“Alright, Inquisitor,” Cullen approached from behind, “You have your way in. Best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.” 

A scream drew their attention from the left. They watched as one of their soldiers plummeted to the ground with a sickening thud. Cullen continued, his expression hard as stone, “There’s too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can’t get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we’ll cover your advance.” He retreated back through the shattered remnants of the fortress gates. 

Their objective was to find Warden Commander Clarel. They had to make her see sense. To stop the manipulation and slaughter of Wardens. To bring them away from the control of Corypheus. But their soldiers needed them first. 

Their first encounter was of Warden warriors locked in battle with demons and Warden Spellbinders, “Stay back!” they called to their former comrades, “We want no part in this madness!” 

Dorian struck down the abominations with a wave of his staff. Varric peppered the spellbinders with bolts from Bianaca. 

“Keep your distance!” the remaining Wardens called a fearful warning as the companions approached. 

“Fall back to safety,” Renley replied, pleased at the tone of authority in her voice, “We’re here for Clarel.” 

“Alright,” a large Warden wielding a greatsword eyed them cautiously, “My men will stay back. We want no part of this. Deal with Clarel as you must.” 

“Well said,” Alistair voiced his approval, “I had hoped some of the Wardens would listen to reason.” 

“Perhaps more will follow suit,” suggested Cassandra. 

“Let’s hurry,” said Dorian, “Soldiers tire but demons do not.” 

More demons littered their path. Desert wind met them as they stepped out onto the ramparts. Stones fired from Inquisition trebuchet’s flung burning rubble in every direction. 

“Clear the ladder!” called Cassandra, “Our forces need a way up!” 

They cut through the demons with haste, soldiers scrambling over the walls in the midst of the distraction. 

“Clear!” Cassandra felled the last demon. 

“Let’s get to the next one,” there was urgency in Varric’s voice. 

“You can press on ahead, Your Worship!” an officer addressed her, “We’ll clear a path for the rest of our forces.” 

The next battlement saw the wrath of a pride demon. It towered over with an evil grin and a bone chilling cackle; electricity sparked from its fingertips. Vanquishing the demon was like hacking away at the roots of a massive tree. Each blow felt futile in the beginning, but as its wounds deepened, the demon weakened. And soon it fell with a heaviness that shook the ramparts. 

“There you are,” Hawke called from across the disintegrating demon corpse, “Thought I’d have to come rescue you again.” 

“There’s still time,” Renley quipped, “We’ve got another battlement and a blood mage to deal with.” 

“I’ve got an arrow for his face this time,” Sera bit out her intentions with a ferocity that fueled Renley’s confidence. 

“Aim true,” Renley called to her as they made their way to the next siege point, “Don’t let him get a word out.” 

The next battlement was cleared with ease. Soldiers filtered in from above and below, steadily increasing their number within the fortress. With the battle all but won, only one task remained. 

The path to Clarel was a mess of blood, corpses and demons. Heavy doors of steel screened their advance. Inquisition officers stood guard just before the last. 

“Commander Cullen will hold a path for us as long as possible,” the officer informed them, “Our forces are ready when you are, Inquisitor.” 

“Not all the Wardens have stood against us,” said Alistair, “Maker willing, we may be able to reason with Clarel.” 

“Maker willing,” echoed Renley. The time for nerves was at its end. Steeled for a fight, or lack thereof, Renley stepped through the final door with a stoicism worthy of her title. 

A stench, heavy with blood and decay, greeted them. Wardens stood before a high wall of stone. And atop this stone stood Commander Clarel. Grey hair cropped close, staff of iron on her back, the corners of her eyes showing her years. She addressed the Wardens with a heavy Orlesian accent. 

“Wardens, we are betrayed by the world we are sworn to protect-” she stopped as the companions approached. 

Renley looked around the clearing. A rift stood idle overhead like a plume of green smoke, thirsty for blood. But what she didn’t see was Erimond. She glanced at Sera. Her eyes were razors, combing their surroundings for the blood mage. 

“Clarel,” Renley’s voice rang through the clearing, “This isn’t-” 

“We make the sacrifices no one else will!” Clarel showed no interest in exchanging words, “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!” 

Alistair stepped forward, “And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” 

“Corypheus?” Clarel showed the slightest hint of hesitation at the name, “But he’s dead.” 

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel,” a voice spoke from the shadows. Erimonds voice. 

“Show yourself, Erimond!” called Renley. At her side, Sera nocked an arrow.

“Bring it through!” ordered Clarel, emboldened by Erimond's reasoning. 

“I’ve seen more than my share of blood magic,” called Hawke, “It’s never worth the cost!” 

“I helped fight the Archdemon in Ferelden,” Alistair pleaded with the Wardens, “Could you _consider_ listening to me?” 

“Be ready with the ritual Clarel,” Erimond urged her, “This demon is truly worth your strength.” 

“Coward!” Renley called to the darkness. A tapping came in response. The sound of wood against stone. 

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor,” the tapping continued, “He sent me this to welcome you!” 

An all too familiar reptilian screech rent the air. Stone crumbled beneath massive talons, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The Archdemon, scales like volcanic ash, teeth barred in a hateful grimace, glowered down at them from atop a tower of stone. 

“Alright,” Renley murmured to her companions, “Is anyone else sick and fucking tired of being stalked by dragons?” 

A flash like lightning filled the clearing. The companions turned back in time to see Clarel strike out at Erimond. The blood mage fell forward and into the open. 

“Sera!” 

“I can’t get a shot! He’s behind the table.” 

Clarel sent a shock of white energy at the Archdemon, hitting it square in the neck. The Archdemon fired back with a furry of red flame. It took flight, circling above the bailey, raining down stone and fire. 

Erimond made his escape in the wake of distraction. Clarel called back to the Wardens as she hurried after, “Help the Inquisitor!” 

The inner bailey descended into chaos. Wardens were fighting wardens who were fighting demons who in turn were fighting the Inquisition. The Archdemon flapped menacingly overhead, sending smoldering waves of red fire in every direction. 

As the demons thinned the chaos eased. And once the Wardens’ number dwindled, two sides formed on the battle field. Wardens siding with the Inquisition against demons and Spellbinders. The battle met its end when blood and ichor caked the dirt at their feet. 

“We must get to Clarel!” called Alistair from across the carnage. He hurried toward the stairs. The companions made to follow but Renley shouted them back. 

“No!” she grabbed Sera and Dorian by the backs of their shirts as they passed, “Hold your position!” 

Alistair hesitated, expression strained, “She needs us!” 

“And we need you!” the Archdemon landed between them swishing its tail and scattering the remainder of their number, “This way!” Renley pointed in the opposite direction and slashed at the Archdemons feet. It provided enough distraction to allow the companions to regroup. Cassandra, as always, was fighting at her side. They were two blades but one mind, giving the Archdemon a fight to remember. 

As its side became a mosaic of bolts and arrows from Sera and Varric, set aflame by Dorian, Renley wondered if perhaps they could beat it. Right then and there. But as soon as the thought had come to fruition, the Archdemon took flight, and with purpose it soared away to the other side of the fortress. 

They watched it fly, their skin grimy with blood and sweat. Renley tore her gaze away, and looked over the party. All were present. Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Dorian, Hawke and Alistair. 

“Let’s move,” they followed Renley down the battlements. Her aim was to be as far as physically possible away from Clarel and Erimond. Perhaps they could even be out of the fortress by the time Clarel made her sacrifice. 

As they approached the first siege point, a gust of wind ruffled Renley’s clothes. A mangled body fell before them. Clarel. 

“In war, victory...” she crawled toward them as the dragon landed behind her. Red sparked in a mouth full of knives, a roar like quaking earth filled its throat. 

“Run-” ordered Renley, voice shaking. 

“In peace, vigilance...” Clarel rolled onto her back as the dragon advanced. 

“RUN!” Renley yelled. 

The beast lunged and Clarel shot an explosion of white at its underbelly. The Archdemon soared over them as stone crumbled beneath their feet. 

They were falling, the earth coming forward at rapid speed. Renley held out the anchor and a rift tore open below. The ground rushed past and she was blinded with green. 


	28. Here Lies the Abyss

The worst had happened. Renley and her companions had fallen into a nightmare. Their worst fears would be brought to light. Their greatest insecurities, failures and losses all put on display. And the secrets... maybe Renley should feel the most uneasy about the secrets. But in truth, they were one in the same.

The fall had started with an explosion. A crumbling of stone fortress from beneath their feet. There had been no time. The script had turned villain and tossed Clarel’s body at their feet like a flesh bomb. And then the ground rushed forward with the promise of death. Perhaps it would have been instantaneous. No pain, no toil, just darkness.

But instinct hadn’t allowed it. Renley’s arm moved of its own accord, and down they fell through a swirling mist of green. It was like falling into a dream. Gravity ceased to exist, even time itself seemed to slow.

The ground approached at a leisurely pace, politely maintaining its distance. Renley was filled with a sense of wonder at the sensation. But the realm of nightmare showed its distain in the end. The ground rushed forward all at once and she landed painfully on her back.

“Ah... well- this is unexpected,” Alistair stood, feet firm on a rock vertical to Renley’s position.

“If this is the afterlife” Hawke stood, upside down a few feet away, “The Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

Panic swelled in Renley’s chest. She rolled onto her knees and dug shaking fingers into her thighs. Her breath came quicker now. Sharp, jagged breaths of which she had no control. Eyes stinging, trying to hold everything in, to push everything down. But control was gone. Silence was what she clung to now. The slightest noise would betray her plight.

“No,” Dorian replied, “The Inquisitor opened another rift with the mark. This is the fade.”

Alistair would die here.

“The stories say you-” Hawke faltered as she took in Renley. Her gaze drew the attention of the others. Eyes bore down from all sides. She grew statuesque under their scrutiny. Taking air in silent rasps, brow hard as rock.

A familiar hand squeezed her shoulder. Cassandra knelt before her, concern carving her features, “Renley-”

The sound of her name from the mouth of the Seeker was like chisel to stone. Renley met her eyes like steel forged in fire, “Breathe.”

“Shitballs, fuck, shit, crap, fade, shit, arse, demons, crap!” Sera was having a moment of her own.

The tightness in Renley’s chest eased. Cassandra’s demeanor influenced clarity, strengthening her resolve. She would be by the Inquisitor’s side through it all, a steadfast warrior, who would succeed at any cost. 

Hawke, having somehow found her way upright again, approached. Renley exhaled as a warm hand brushed her neck. She closed her eyes at the touch. When Hawke spoke, it brought to mind sunlight, peaking through cracks of stone, “Are you alright?”

Renley laced her fingers around Hawke’s wrist, pulling her hand down to rest at her chest. She looked around at her companions.

Alistair broke the silence, “In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main bailey. Can we get out the same way?”

“We can certainly try,” her hand slid from Hawke’s skin with reluctance. They began their walk through the fade. The sky was burning embers producing wisps of smoke. Puddles of green hugged uneven surface of black rock, paving the way forward. Massive chunks of jagged stone hung ominously in the air. And looming on the horizon, like the breach that had plagued Haven nearly a year ago, was their exit.

“Is this really what it’s like when you dream?” Varric asked of the companions, “How do you people ever sleep?”

“Shite, piss, stupid... I hate this!” Sera’s knuckles whitened on her bow.

“Imagine it,” Cassandra gazed upon her surroundings, “To walk in the fade... and survive.”

“So, we survive?” Varric teased meaning from her words, “Good to know.”

The fade grew stranger the further they went. Odd sightings met their travels; from statues of wild animals to furniture loaded down with candles and spare parchment to lights shaped like key holes, hanging in the air before them. On they walked, but none of it felt right. Should they not have encountered wraith or demon by now?

Footsteps splashed through dark pools of emerald. Renley was beginning to think they’d gone the wrong way, when a shock of white robes drew her eye. 

“What?” Alistair cut his brow at the figure, “That can’t be...”

“I greet you, Warden,” Divine Justinia addressed them with the warmth of a mother greeting her children, “And you, Champion.”

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra stepped forward, looking upon Justinia as if she were the rising sun after a year of darkness, “Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” Justinia looked over her Right Hand. Her eyes, though blue like frost on a frozen pool of fresh water, were warm for the Seeker.

Those piercing blue eyes turned to Renley, crinkling at the corners, “Inquisitor.”

Despite her lingering unease, Renley felt placated. Those eyes were familiar, teasing...

“What a curiosity you are,” Justinia offered a knowing smile, “Who would have guessed that our worlds would converge in this way.”

Renley pressed her lips into a thin line, “Maybe you could just show us the way out?”

“You _know_ what you must do before approaching the nightmare.”

Her companions stirred, confusion setting in.

“I don’t recall the Divine glowing,” observed Alistair dryly, “In my experience that’s something spirits do.”

“In truth,” replied Justinia, “Proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Really?” Hawke’s voice dripped in sarcasm, “How hard is it to answer one question? I’m a human, and you are...”

“I am here to help you,” a beat of silence followed Justina’s declaration, “You must have many queries about your existence in Thedas, Inquisitor. Some, though not all of their answers can be found here,” she gestured to the clearing before her.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Renley managed.

“Does who you are not matter?” countered Justinia.

“Maybe not. I’m here now. What importance is the past to me?”

“Perhaps more than you know.”

Renley heaved a great sigh and looked down at the rough earth beneath her boots, “Let’s get this over with, then.”

She walked through her companions to a green orb glowing on the ground. Heart racing, she extended the anchor toward it, and was transported to the memory of another world.

***

A song played through the stereo of a car past its prime. ‘Where Is My Mind’ by Pixies. Her heart thumped against her ribs as she ran her fingers over the smooth leather of the steering wheel. The music was a siren song, dulling her senses and pulling her into this reality.

She looked through the passenger window, it’s surface dirtied with fingerprints. A long concrete walkway lined with windows and automatic sliding doors saw the traffic of travelers, rushing to and from airport gates and baggage claim.

Renley opened her door and stepped onto pavement. The air here was dry and cool, rolling down to the prairies from the Rocky Mountains. She turned on the spot, watching people carry on with their day.

“Renley!”

She turned to her name in time to see a mane of unkempt red curls come crashing into her. Somehow, she kept her footing against the blow. Arms encircled her with enthusiasm. She pulled back from the culprit to catch a glimpse of shining green eyes before being caught in a kiss riddled with yearning.

“Corey,” Renley whispered the name against smiling lips.

“Last time I checked,” Corey pulled back and grabbed her bags.

“Here,” Renley extended a hand toward the bags but stopped short. Her hand, unmarked, no anchor. Simply a hand.

“I’ve got it,” Corey flashed a heartbreaking grin her way and threw her duffle and pack in the trunk, “Now take me home. I’ve had enough of airports for one week.”

Renley starred as Corey collapsed in the passenger seat with an exaggerated huff. Her curls fell in ringlets around her face. She smirked as she took in Renley, sniffing at the air with mock suspicion, “It doesn’t _smell_ like weed-”

Nervous laughter bubbled over. She could feel her own stupid grin, her eyes glassy not from inebriation but from emotion, “I just... forgot...?”

“Okay,” Corey unbuckled and reached for the door, “Clearly you don’t need to be behind the wheel-”

Renley grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the seat, “I missed you,” she whispered. Their lips met once more. Soft and familiar. Hair that smelled of honeysuckle falling into her face, and everywhere else as it was wont to do. And how she wished the console wasn’t between them. That cars weren’t honking behind them. That this wasn’t just a cruel memory, seemingly sent to do nothing more than torment her.

***

Longing lingered on Renley’s skin. She opened her eyes to the wasteland around her.

“What was that?” the words fell heavy from the Seeker, doubtless echoing the thoughts of the others.

“A memory from another world,” Justinia replied as though it should be obvious. 

“Another world?” asked Varric softly.

“What’s next?” Renley’s voice was hollow. The memory was one she wished had died in the fade. To recall it was pain, “Will we pick apart the other great traumas of my life?”

“The next memory is one that is not your own,” continued Justinia, “But the anchor will unlock it all the same. I will prepare the way forward.”

And she was gone. Renley turned on her heel and marched away from the clearing. Her companions followed in silence.

The fade grew darker as they ventured forth. A green haze hung thick in the air. Burning corpses stood frozen in fear. Wraiths floated past like ghosts, paying no heed to their advance.

As they came upon a new set of stairs, a booming voice echoed through the fade.

“Perhaps I should be afraid. Facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition,” a bone chilling laughter followed.

“The nightmare speaks,” observed Dorian.

“Greetings Dorian,” the voice, so deep its frequency could be felt in the blood, responded, “It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment I mistook you for your father.”

“Well, that was entirely unnecessary,” Dorian inclined his chin in dissent.

They continued on as the nightmare goaded them.

“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here...”

“Just keep talking, smiley,” grumbled Varric.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught.”

“Die in the void, demon,” Cassandra’s voice dripped with disdain.

“Sera, sera, sera... if you shoot an arrow at me, I’ll know where you are.”

“Out of my head, bitch-balls!”

Sera’s response tore a chuckle from Renley, “Not much further.”

“Ah, Renley,” a shiver rolled through her shoulders as the nightmare uttered her name, “Your fears need no cultivation, for they pour forth from your mind like fine wine.”

“Yes. I’ve been told my fear is quite tasty,” she stole a glance at her companions. Curiosity burned in their expressions.

At last, they’d arrived at the second clearing. Renley went straight for the next memory. If nothing else, at least this one wouldn’t be her own.

***

A woman with hair white as snow and eyes dark as coal stood in a library lit by the flame of a solitary candle. Her shoulders tensed as she opened the heavy ornate doors. A cold gust of wind filled the room, extinguishing the candle and ruffling the pages of books lying open on the floor.

A body lay among them. Blood pooled on the wooden floor beneath it, soaking the scrolls and tomes that littered the surrounding area. The woman glanced back at the lifeless man.

She sheathed her bloodied dagger and took the staff that leaned against the threshold. If she had been armed, he would have been too nervous to divulge the truth.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” the woman whispered.

She braved the icy winds of Haven and began the long trek to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Templars and Mages alike flocked to the Conclave. A meeting for peace that would host a sinister plot. If left unchecked it could end the world as they knew it.

The acid in her stomach boiled, she bit back bile. This wasn’t what she’d wanted.

Templars and humans alike cast dirty looks on her. Though her ears were covered in waves of blinding white hair, she could not hide her facial markings, or the staff on her back. But none of it mattered. What mattered was peace.

A commotion met her ears as she approached the Chantry. Jaw clenched, she threw open the doors. The Divine was trapped, suspended high in the air, Wardens binding her from below. A horrifically disfigured being approached, orb in hand.

“Corypheus!” her voice rang through the Chantry. She barred her staff and met the Elder One’s eyes with determination, “Dirthara-ma!”

The Divine swatted the orb from Corypheus grasp in the wake of distraction. The woman grabbed it as it rolled toward her. The orb emitted a blinding light, hot and painful unlike any magic she had ever handled. An arrow shot through her midsection as the ground fell away from her feet. Time and space unraveled around her and she was of this world no more.

***

Renley’s eyes snapped to Justinia, “It was Lavellan. It was supposed to be Lavellan.”

“You knew her?” questioned Cassandra.

“Just…” Renley paused. Should the lies continue? Would the next memory betray her knowledge? “She bore marks of the Dalish.”

“The nightmare knows you are here,” Justinia informed them, “You must make haste.”

“What’s wrong, Hawke?” Alistair gave her a calculating look.

She exchanged the briefest of glances with Renley before making her reply, “The Grey Wardens... in that vision-"

“I assumed Corypheus took their minds. You’ve seen it happen to some,” Alistair continued, his voice softened, “Come on. You can add it to the things to yell at the Wardens about when we get out of here.”

“Me, yell?” she smirked at Alistair who differed with a huff.

They made their way past more corpses and glowing deposits of rock. Renley grabbed Hawke’s wrist as they walked, pulling her to the back of the group. The others marched ahead as the two stood in silence.

Renley raised her hands as if beginning a lecture, but no words came. She creased her brow and focused on a spot of ichor congealed on Hawke’s shoulder plate. What was she even trying to say? She hadn’t seen Corey in nearly a year. Hadn’t remembered her even. The memory had been brought to life, painfully so it was true. For what purpose she couldn’t begin to guess, but at this point it was a dream, fading away in the early morning hours.

Hands grasped her shoulders, “You’ve locked up. Has the fade addled you?” Hawke jested.

“It would appear that way,” Renley smiled nervously, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It is true though, that I didn’t remember much of it.”

“At least you make sense now,” her arms slid down to Renley’s arms, giving them a gentle squeeze, “Always wondered what planet you were from.”

“So, you’re saying the excitement is gone?” a crooked grin turned up the corner of her cheek.

“If only. I fear you’ll plague us with it till the end of my days.”

A sly smile lit Renley’s features, “The rest of your days, huh?”

“Oh, _shut_ up,” Hawke pulled her close and kissed her fervently. The tension melted as they embraced. The very fade around them vanishing in the heat.

A gagging noise broke the reverie. The two pulled apart and looked to their companions. The five were watching them with a range of reception. Sera no doubt had been the interruption. Alistair looked attentively at a green cloud of mist hovering nearby. Dorian and Cassandra looked on like dewy eyed school girls.

“Leave it to you to get all sappy in a place like this,” called Varric.

“That’s nothing,” Sera spoke as the two rejoined the party, “The Inquisitor made the first move on the latrine balcony.”

“Is that true?” asked Cassandra as they made their way forward, “Why would you pick such an awful place to initiate intimacy?”

“I don’t know,” quipped Dorian, “I’ve seen many a relationship come to blows in the wash room. None of them lasting of course-”

“Alright,” Renley’s face grew warmer with every word, “I’ve had enough of this reality for the moment.”

She walked to the next memory, her anchor growing warm in anticipation.

***

A blast of heat from dusty vents warmed her skin. She sat in a grey leather seat. The dashboard before her a panel of buttons and switches.

“I hope we get a good trauma tonight.”

Renley looked to her left. A man with jet black hair and a sandy complexion studied her from the driver's seat.

“I know, I know,” he continued, “But I’ve been doing this for six months now and I still haven’t gotten anything good.”

“We’re in the city, Gabe. You’ll get plenty,” she heard herself say, “And now that you’ve _cursed_ us, we’ll probably get a GI bleed instead.”

“Mierda,” Gabe replied, “And you don’t care anyway. Leaving us to go work in a _hospital_ ,” he said the word as though it were offensive.

She scoffed, “Gotta make money somehow.”

“I’m sayin,” he scrunched down his seat, “When you start making that big money, flying in copters and shit, I’m gonna come live with you.”

“A flight job is a good three years away. And with the way you’ve been talking shit tonight, we'll be lucky to make it through this shift alive.”

A voice crackled across the radio, “Dispatch to unit 341.”

Renley shot Gabe a dirty look as she took the mic, “This is unit 341, go ahead.”

A beat of silence followed, “We received a call on an unresponsive uh... individual. Unknown down time...” static crackled through the speaker, “Thirteenth street and Pine. Dollar General parking lot. PD has been notified.”

Gabe sighed, “Real fucking useful.”

“341 heading for the scene at 0255,” Renley clipped the mic back to the dash and glared at her partner, “I swear to god Gabe, if they’re bleeding from the ass, I’m getting a new EMT.”

Gabe reached for a switch on the dash. Renley talked him down, “No lights.”

“Why?” his face fell in disappointment.

“It’s three in the morning. You’ll wake up the whole city.”

“Ladrona divertida.”

They sped through deserted streets, drawing further away from the metropolis. A full moon was always an ill omen for healthcare workers. Renley had responded to the worst calls of her career on nights like these. Even the dead of winter did little to repel the antics of those under its influence.

“Unit 341 arrival to the scene at 0301,” Renley marked their location to dispatch. She peered through the window at the dark parking lot. A single shape lay in the middle. The driver's side door clicked open, flooding the cabin with light.

“Hey,” she held her hand out to Gabe, “Wait till PD gets here.”

“This place is deserted.”

“This is basic stuff. We don’t go out until they clear it.”

A spark of green drew their attention. The dark shape cried out.

“Vamos!” Gabe looked at her with an excitement she knew would one day be crushed under the weight of public service. Against her better judgment, she opened her door.

She walked to the shape, medical kit in hand, as Gabe opened the back of the ambulance. Another spark of green accompanied by a cry of pain. The shape took the form of a woman with ashen hair and charcoal eyes.

“Hello, my name is Renley. I’m a paramedic,” her voice took on a tone of professionalism, “What’s going on tonight?”

“Halani,” the woman moaned.

“Uh...” Renley looked her over, “Hablas espanol?”

The woman lifted her hand from her side. It was slick with red.

Renley called over her shoulder, “Gabe! Let’s load and go!”

“Trying! Fucking cot is stuck!”

She turned back to the woman, “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright? But I need you to keep your hand on this wound,” she unzipped her kit and felt for gauze.

“I’m sorry,” the woman rasped. Another spark of green lit the space between them. The woman groaned in pain as Renley recoiled.

Metal scraped against asphalt as the woman wrenched herself to a sitting position.

“Hey, hold on now,” Renley pushed gently at her shoulder, “Everything's gonna be alright. Just lay back and-”

The woman grabbed the collar of Renley’s jacket with her blood-soaked hand, “You must warn them-”

“Look you’ve lost a lot of blood-”

“Abelas, stranger...” her fingers slipped from Renley’s collar, eyes flickering.

“Gabe!” she shouted again over her shoulder.

“Mala suledin nadas.”

Renley turned back. A flash of silver carved her face from cheek to brow. Her hand snapped to the wound. Blood poured forth and onto her fingers.

The woman grabbed her wrist, tearing her hand away and placing it on a rounded metal object. Agony. Burning, stinging, agony coursed through her body as green consumed them.

***

Renley fell on all fours. The anchor was angry, pulsing up her arm and through her shoulder. Blood pounded behind her eyes. She was shaking. Every limb shivering under the weight of realization. She touched her scar with trembling fingers. Now nothing more than a smooth white line across her face, she felt it all the same. As though it were only created moments ago.

She lifted her head and found the eyes of the Divine, peering down at her with soft sorrow, “Now you are complete.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” spat Renley.

Cassandra stiffened. Doubtless she had ever heard another address Most Holy in this manner.

She stumbled to her feet. Anchor sparking dangerously. The Divine transformed into a being of light. Mirroring the form she’d taken when Renley first laid eyes on her, “You know what you must do. You know what is at stake. I will lead you to the rift, should you choose to follow.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” stated Alistair.

“Renley,” eyes of warmest gold, like leaves of late autumn caught her gaze, “Do you need a moment?”

Her eyes lingered on Hawke's for a second longer, “Let’s finish this.”

***

They followed the glowing shape of the Divine to the nightmare’s lair. A sickening beast of grey flesh and pincers towered over them. Opaque eyes blinked down at them as a snarl slithered from its core.

Justinia left them with a final request, “If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I’m sorry. I failed you too’.” She erupted in a flash of light, striking a blow against the great beast and leaving them to deal with the fear demon at its foot.

It proved a formidable opponent. But not enough for the seven of them. It was a hard-fought battle but they felled it in the end.

A waterfall of blood fell from the nightmare, curtaining the way toward the rift. Dorian, Sera, Varric and Cassandra hastened toward it, going out and back to Adamant Fortress.

And so, the time had come. Through all of the sleepless nights and guilt-ridden days, the choice would meet its end.

Renley, Hawke and Alistair sprinted for the rift. A hideous fleshy claw barred their path. And wielding it, the nightmare demon. Gorged on fear and despair. Gathering its final meal from their toil.

“How do we get by?” asked Alistair.

“Go,” said Hawke. Her jaw set, “I’ll cover you.”

“No. The Wardens caused this mess,” reasoned Alistair, “A Warden must-”

“Alistair,” he fell silent as Hawke said his name with an air of finality. A meaningful look passed between them.

“What’s happening?” asked Renley.

“Say goodbye to Varric for me,” her grasp was firm but fleeting on the skin of Renley’s neck. Their foreheads touched, “Be the leader they need, Renley.”

“Why are you doing this?” fingers slid from her skin and Hawke retreated, “Hawke!”

She rushed forward, but a hand encircled her arm, pulling her back and toward the rift.

“Why are you doing this!?” Renley screamed at Hawke’s retreating form. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Arms grabbed her around the waist, dragging her away from the nightmare and through the rift.

A gust of wind blew hair into her eyes. Green was replaced with thousands of stars. The frigid night air of the Western Approach brought prickles to her skin. She struggled against Alistair, trying to return to the nightmare, to Hawke.

Flailing from Alistair's grasp, she reached her hand forward, anchor glowing bright in preparation of breaching the fade. A fist came down on her elbow. The hit bent her arm, breaking its connection with the rift.

Cassandra hugged an arm around Renley's middle, her free hand restraining her anchored limb.

"Renley," the Seekers voice again brought her back to reality. The wrong reality, "I'm sorry."

_When faced with a cause greater than ourselves. We must make difficult decisions._

The decision hadn't been her own in the end. It never was, really. All she could decide now was how she would face the consequences.

***

They arrived at Griffon Wing Keep a few hours before sunrise. Renley went straight to Dagna when they arrived. They sat in a room bathed in candle light.

Dagna worked in somber silence, collecting samples. Scraps of clothing, scrapings of skin. Renley endured the process with red eyes and a stony expression. Piece by piece, her clothing was removed until nothing was left. Each article bagged in clean linen sacks.

She sat naked before the Arcanist as she pried bits of ichor and blood away, placing them in glass jars and vials. When she was finished, she presented Renley with a neatly folded stack of clean clothing. Renley dressed in silence and made her way to a secluded balcony.

Miles and miles of sand dunes lined the horizon. Shimmering auroras adorned the night sky. A shiver rolled through her shoulders. She felt as though she’d never feel warmth again. Even now, Hawke could be clinging to life. Searching for a way out.

Renley lifted her arm. Willing the anchor to do something, anything. If she could open a rift while plummeting to the earth, couldn’t she do so without the added pressure? It didn’t so much as spark.

She let go. With no one there as witness, the tears flowed freely. Racked with the shame of wishing it had been Alistair. Seething over her failure of preventing their fall into the fade. Forever haunted by the pain in Varric's eyes as he learned that Hawke would not return.


	29. The Aftermath

Canyons and buttes flattened into plains. Miles and miles of fields covered with tufts of bone-dry grass rustling as wind rolled through them. It would be that way for days. Broad skies and never-ending horizons. 

It felt exceedingly lonely. Their horses made the motions of walking, but the skyline remained elusive. The environment, to Renley, was a time warp of midwestern American gothic. 

Her companions praised the good weather. But Renley found it bland. Everything washed out under clear skies, so pale they were almost white. Waves of straw, as far as the eye could see. Wilting. Dying. Wasted. 

There was nothing to draw the eye. No distractions from intrusive thoughts. Over and over, she simmered on Hawke’s decision, her mind a tumultuous sea of blame. She felt betrayed by the Champion’s final act of heroism. Angry that Alistair had allowed it to happen. Shame at her own unfathomable selfishness. 

When her mind grew weary with strife, it was always with the same realization. That none of it mattered. Because Hawke was dead. 

Sometimes her emotions would give her a break. Allow her to become comfortably numb. But inevitably she’d always end up back at the decision, and the cycle would begin anew. Betrayal. Anger. Shame. Grief. 

Somewhere beyond The Dales, Skyhold awaited the return of its Inquisitor. And what would return to them? Renley wondered. A bitter Inquisitor plagued by regret? Or the leader they deserved. One who had seen the other side of failure. Was shaped by it, tempered with the weight of consequence. 

*** 

After nearly a fortnight of travel, the Frostback mountains lined the horizon. And what a miserable trip it had been. Cassandra kept a close eye on their Inquisitor. On the first leg of the journey, she had given Renley space. Allowed her to grieve. 

But as the days wore on, Cassandra’s concern mounted. Varric, at least, had thrown out a half-hearted comment now and then. Even made a witty remark at another’s expense. 

Their Inquisitor seethed. Often, she’d catch a glimpse of knuckles, whitening on reins. A deep exhale through a tightly clenched jaw. 

Cassandra sidled up to her at one such moment, “Inquisitor.” 

Renley kept her eyes forward, “Seeker.” 

“The scouts estimate our arrival by midday tomorrow,” her statement was met with silence, “I’m sure your advisors will want a full report. I can attend the briefing, if you’d like. Shoulder some of the burden of explanation.” 

“Thank you, Cassandra,” the response was formal, dismissive. 

The Seeker looked back to the mountain range. The sun was setting at their backs, taking with it the warmth of day. Cassandra was no Chantry Mother. She didn’t know how to console a friend in mourning. Especially under such bizarre circumstances. What she’d seen of Renley’s world; the lights, the sounds, the architecture and machinery... 

Which loss did their Inquisitor mourn for most? Perhaps it was the culmination of it all. But Cassandra couldn’t help but think that she was missing something. Something among the cryptic words of Most Holy. Something that the Inquisitor struggled with internally. Something she was certain had been shared with their Spymaster. 

*** 

Ygritte was sorely in need of a break. The poor falcon had flown the length of Orlais a multitude of times in just a few short weeks. Luckily, his handler was merciful. 

He saw his last message delivered dutifully. Poised for his next flight, ready to bear the responsibility of delivering the Spymaster’s most valuable messages across treacherous terrain. 

But instead of a fresh roll of parchment, Ygritte was met with a heavy sigh and a pat on the head. And for the next week, he would be as useless as a hen in an Orlesian ball room. 

His handler, however, seemed overwhelmed with work. Agents filtered in and out of the office at all hours. Exchanging parchment, giving orders, receiving report. The traffic increased with each passing day, until one morning, it ceased entirely. 

Leliana made her way down to the Ambassador’s office. The day was bright and clear. A good omen for the Inquisitor’s return to Skyhold. 

She found Josephine, quill in hand, pouring over documents at her desk. The Ambassador looked up at her approach, a notch in her brow, “What word?” 

“Cullen returned this morning,” Leliana stood before the desk, arms folded, “He says they are a half day’s ride behind him. They should be here anytime.” 

Josephine abandoned her work and the two made their way along the crumbling passage to the war room. Birds chirped lightly at their advance. 

“Did he expound on Adamant?” 

“No,” they entered the chamber through the wicket door and set about their usual pre-council routine. 

Josephine cracked open the east facing window, allowing a gentle breeze to stir the air that was prone to stagnation. Leliana readied tankards, and for this briefing, a single malt. 

Cullen joined them moments later, “Ah, you’re here.” 

“Commander,” Josephine greeted him warmly, “I trust your return went smoothly?” 

“The road from the Approach to the Frostbacks is long but dull,” Cullen took up position at the center of the map. 

“And what of the Inquisitor?” Leliana maintained her usual air of reserve. 

“The aftermath of Adamant was... difficult,” the Commander picked up his tankard and swirled its contents absentmindedly, “The Inquisitor was devastated, understandably so. But her handling of the Wardens was resolute.” 

“Devastated?” questioned Josephine. 

“Hawke is dead,” the statement, declared in the baritone timbre of their Commander, left an emptiness in its wake. 

“The Champion of Kirkwall.” Josephine clutched her carcanet to her chest. 

Silence yawned in the war room. The advisors sipped their drinks, eyes glazing. Until a creak of the door drew them to attention. 

An ache squeezed at the Spymaster’s chest as Renley entered, Cassandra at her side. The Inquisitor’s demeanor was not the one she’d grown accustomed to. Something was at work there, boiling just beneath the surface. 

The council gathered around the table as Renley spoke, “Cassandra has offered to brief you,” she glanced at the Seeker, yielding the floor. 

It took some time to bring the others up to speed. Especially when it came to explaining the events of the fade. Leliana kept her eyes on Renley, but the Inquisitor’s stare stayed glued to the map of Thedas. Her expression hardened and posture stiff. 

“Can the Warden’s be trusted?” asked Josephine as the briefing came to an end. 

“Under the leadership of Alistair, they can,” Renley replied. 

“I’m inclined to agree,” added Cullen, “Brining the Warden’s back under control has dealt a great blow to the opposition. And with a Warden-Commander like Alistair, I believe the Wardens can be restored to their former glory.” 

“Corypheus lost the army he would have used to conquer Thedas,” Leliana looked around at the others, “but that will matter little if Orlais falls into chaos.” 

“All arrangements have been made for the ball in Halamshiral,” Josephine informed them, “It is a way off yet, but our presence there is secure.” 

“Then we have our way forward,” concluded Renley, “Is there any other business you’d like to bring to the table?” she looked up at the council, touching eyes briefly with each of them. 

When no one answered, she continued, “Council dismissed.” 

*** 

Leliana pulled Cassandra aside as the others departed, “How bad was it, really?” 

“It was,” she placed her fingers on the map of Thedas, “I’ve never seen anything like it, Leliana. If the others hadn’t been there to witness it too, I may still not believe.” 

“What was she like?” Leliana’s voice softened, “Divine Justinia? Or the spirit who took her form?” 

"It was like," a small smile lit the Seekers eye, “she’d never left.” 

Nearly a year had passed since the disaster at the Conclave. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of maple trees as it drifted in through the open window. The fresh scent of changing seasons diffused through the chamber. 

Leliana sighed and lowered her hood, “And our Inquisitor?” 

Cassandra huffed, “She is angry,” she fingered absentmindedly at a pawn on the war table, “She swore at Justinia in the fade.” 

“Oh?” the former Left Hand of the Divine tried to hide her smile, but to no avail. 

“Could you imagine?” Cassandra’s voice grew thick with amusement. 

“Oh, I could,” a chuckle escaped from behind her hand, “And that is the problem.” 

Divine Justinia’s Left and Right Hand’s shared a laugh over the Inquisition’s war table. But reality was waiting as their laughter died down. 

“She will be fine,” Cassandra’s words held an air of certainty, “She has shown resilience in the face of many trials.” 

“These circumstances are different,” Leliana donned her hood and left with a final request, “Keep your eye on her. She looks up to you.” 

*** 

Renley retired to her quarters early. She was grateful for a proper bed. But sleep proved elusive. Any amount that did come was fitful and plagued with dark dreams. 

A woman with white hair, standing over bloody bodies. An ambulance, speeding through the night, it’s lights and sirens blaring. A green haze, so thick she couldn’t see her surroundings. 

Every time she’d wake with a start. On the last occasion she gave up entirely. Morning was still a few hours away, but she pulled on her boots regardless and made her way through a sleeping Skyhold and down to the dueling ring. 

Cassandra was there already, sleeves rolled past her elbows, straw dummy fraying beneath her blade. 

She paused as Renley approached, “Inquisitor. We can hold training, if-” 

“ _You_ aren’t holding training,” she drew a sword and walked to the center of room. 

The Seeker met her stance and readied her sword. The blade felt hot in Renley’s hands. She was on the offensive, putting force into every swing. Her advance was clumsy, but Cassandra allowed it. She was being coddled, and it irritated her to no end. 

Renley reined in her approach, refining her strikes and drawing closer to her opponent. She brought her sword down from above. A move that, from this range, Cassandra should have punished her for. The Seeker blocked instead and moved her sword in preparation for the next blow. 

She left herself wide open, and Renley leaned in, bumping her with a shoulder. Cassandra stumbled back and regained her footing to the dull point of a training sword, resting at her neck. It’s wielders eyes alight with fury. 

“Put up a fight,” Renley bit out the words with ire. 

The duel picked up in earnest. The clamor of swordplay rang through the chamber. Dirt loosened underfoot as they maneuvered the ring. Dust mingled with the perspiration on Renley’s brow, stinging her eyes. 

Swords locked as the days first light filtered in through the aperture. Warm rays of sun, peaking through stone... The burning in Renley’s eyes intensified. A single tear spilled over and onto her cheek. 

Shame rose like bile in her throat. She sat down in the middle of the ring, resting her arms on her knees, jaw tightening with the effort of restraint. 

Cassandra sat next to her. All was quiet in the dueling ring as the dust settled. Their swords cast aside, gazes fixed on the wall ahead. 

“I’m,” Renley sniffed, “I’m angry at her. I’m angry that she saved us. And I hate myself for it.” 

An arm wound around her, and she surrendered to the embrace. She cried into the Seekers shoulder for a while. Comforted by the silence. By the opportunity to unburden herself. To let go of the stoicism she’d been clinging to. 

*** 

Renley set her feet for the tallest tower in Skyhold. Eyes heavy with exhaustion, still red from earlier. 

She was greeted with a flap of wings as she entered the Spymasters office. The bird landed lightly on her arm, its eagerness bringing a fond smile to her lips, “Hello, you.” 

“Consider it a compliment,” Leliana observed the pair from the seat of her desk, “Ygritte is selective with his acquaintances.” 

Renley stroked the falcon's feathers, “This one saved my life in the Approach,” she huffed in amusement, recalling the events of the perilous night, “And Dagna. I had no idea what I was unleashing when I sent our Arcanist to the field.” 

“Dagna proved useful?” 

Ygritte fluttered back to his perch and Renley took a seat across from her Spymaster, “Let’s just say, I’d most likely be a pile of dragon dung by now if not for her.” 

“Well,” Leliana rose, making her way around the desk, “If that is the case, perhaps she deserves a raise.” 

Renley smiled as the Spymaster took the chair next to hers, “Forget the raise. Let’s make her Inquisitor.” 

Ice blue eyes bore into Renley’s. They were exceedingly perceptive, slicing through and stealing answers. She was suddenly too aware of how swollen her own eyes were. Of the warmth creeping into her cheeks from being seen in such a way. 

“So,” Renley gripped the arm of her chair, eyes fixed on the floor between them, “Things at Adamant didn’t exactly go as planned.” 

“What happened?” Leliana’s voice was soft, soothing. 

She shrugged her response, “Hawke made a decision. I,” she exhaled and turned the chair to face her confidant, still unable to meet her gaze, “I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t even try. Things just spiraled out of control and before I knew it... we were spending every night together.” 

“Don’t regret the time spent growing close to her.” 

She looked up, watching as Leliana unfastened the hood from her armor and draped it over the arm of her chair. Red hair curtained her features. A single braid was just noticeable near her left ear. Renley’s eyes lingered there, trying to work up the nerve to meet her eyes once more. 

She settled on a change of subject, ignoring the lingering unease in her chest, “Now that the Wardens are taken care of, we can lend resources to locating Ursa.” 

A deep sigh prefaced Leliana’s reply, “I’ve exhausted all available resources in attempt to contact her.” 

Renley met her eyes at last, wondering what exactly she was hearing, “And you received her letter?” 

“No,” her voice was steady as she confirmed Renley’s fears, “All methods of communication have failed.” 

“But,” her throat felt very dry, “She _is_ there. Right?” 

“It’s been two years since last I heard from her,” a hush followed her statement. So heavy Renley felt crushed beneath its weight. The Hero and the Champion. Gone. 

Renley’s mouth felt numb as she broke the silence, “The script-” 

“The odds were stacked in our favor,” Leliana’s words were quiet but sure, “It went unnoticed initially, but the script is drawing even. We cannot waver in the face of adversity.” 

“Now,” she turned her chair toward Renley and fixed her with a determined stare, “Tell me about the Dalish woman you saw in the fade.” 


	30. The Inquisitor's Wrath

Skyhold felt different after the events of Adamant. It was no longer the fantastical castle that had mesmerized Renley from the time she first laid eyes on it. Perhaps her perspective had shifted with the return of her memory. 

But she couldn’t help but feel the eyes of those around her. This paranoia to her, seemed unnecessary. She was the Inquisitor, after all. Word of her actions would reach the furthest corners of Thedas. What should she care if a noble or two gawked in the throne room? 

The feeling of unease persisted. Even sleep couldn’t provide respite. Her nights were spent tossing and turning, until inevitably she’d find herself walking to the dueling ring well before dawn. 

Initially, Renley would arrive to an empty chamber. Being there alone was stimulating. Silence echoed, interrupted only by the scrape of her boots in the dirt. Moonlight illuminated dust particles swirling softly in the air. It felt wrong to linger in the absence of training. Wrong in the most alluring of ways. 

“You haven’t been sleeping,” the Seeker's drowsy voice broke the silence. 

Renley hid her smile as she took in the others appearance. Hair lightly disheveled, eyes squinting through sleepiness. It was exceedingly cute, “And you look like you just woke up.” 

She was met with a look of reproach. Cassandra sauntered over to her side, “You need rest.” 

“I _need_ something to do. This castle is driving me crazy-” 

“It is the lack of sleep that is driving you crazy,” a ringing silence followed her observation. 

Renley heaved a sigh of frustration. She wanted to fight not debate, “Cassandra-” 

“Go to the apothecary in the morning,” the Seeker started for the exit, “There will be no training until you have slept.” 

*** 

Being stripped of her morning routine left Renley feeling anxious. Her outlet was gone, and would only be returned once Cassandra deemed her well-rested. And when would that be? She could knock herself out with potions but the issue had never been getting to sleep. It was staying that way. 

A flickering beam of light fell across the throne room. Renley approached it, curiosity piqued. She followed the source to Solas’ chamber. The mage knelt among dozens of candles. His fingers colorfully stained and hard at work adding the finishing touches to his latest fresco. 

“Inquisitor,” he looked around as she graced the threshold. A peculiar gleam lit his eye. He stood, wiping his palms on his trousers. 

She approached tentatively, deliberating on the mage’s demeanor. Never had she seen him present so welcomingly. 

“My latest,” he gestured to the wall with a hint of pride in his voice. 

Candles littered the base of the wall, casting flattering shadows over the work. The subject was a beautiful depiction of chaos. 

“I’ve seen this before,” her eyes glazed as she spoke, “I don’t know where. Just that I have.” 

“The fade has strayed beyond the recess of my imagination,” he looked down at Renley, “It started after you left for the Approach. If I had to guess, I’d say the change was born of your recovered memory. And the defeat of the nightmare.” 

“The defeat,” the words set her mind in motion, “You mean, the nightmare _was_ defeated.” 

“I mean only that a significant blow was struck against it. And once sealed in the fade, its influence was corrupted.” 

“Oh,” the fleeting hope left her limbs tingling, “Well, beyond the recess of your imagination, lies my world,” she smiled softly at the artist, pushing away thoughts of Adamant, “The longer I look, the surer I am. This is a famous painting where I’m from.” 

“So, it is true?” Solas turned away from his mural to face Renley, “You are not of this world?” 

She glanced at him, “It is.” 

“Fascinating.” 

“You call it fascinating. I call it confusing. It is what is.” 

“Did it differ greatly from this one?” 

Renley considered. What harm could come of this interaction? Now that everything, well almost everything, was out in the open anyway? 

“Would you like to see?” 

Solas raised a brow at her and she clarified, “You can walk in the dreams of others. Right? Walk in mine.” 

*** 

The pair walked through an automatic sliding glass door. Machines beeped as clerks scanned items. Wheels rattled on buggies as the store's patrons weaved up and down the aisles. Renley led Solas to the toiletry section. She observed his bewildered expression with amusement. 

The mage extended a hand to the shelves, “Dove. Like a bird?” 

Renley chuckled, “It’s shampoo. You use it on your hair. Well... not you but- you know what I mean.” 

“You’ve brought me to a bath house?” 

“It’s a store,” she was deeply entertained by how out of place Solas seemed, “People buy necessities here.” 

“I was hoping to see something more... significant.” 

Renley pondered his meaning. She knew he wanted to see something spectacular. But what Solas would be intrigued by escaped her. They could go to Rome, see the ruins of a once great empire. But surely Solas had seen countless feats of architecture on his journeys. Not to mention the location had to be a one within her memory. This was her dream, after all. 

“Okay,” she tilted her chin at her mage companion, “More significant it is.” 

A warm breeze tousled her hair. An eager crowd gathered around the edge of a lake. Excited murmurs rippled through them. Time ticked down from a large digital clock. Renley tapped Solas’ shoulder and pointed across the water where a tower was just visible over the distant tree line. 

Clouds of smoke erupted on the horizon. The roar was audible even from their vantage. A blaze of white propelled a rocket toward the sky. It soared high into the atmosphere and disappeared among the clouds. 

“What is the point of this?” 

“Space exploration,” Renley shrugged. 

"I can't say what I expected," he observed the mingling crowd, the film equipment and news vans, “but it certainly wasn’t this.” 

They were back at Skyhold in an instant. Her neck ached as she rolled her head from her shoulder. She was seated at Solas’ desk. Solas himself stood a few feet away. 

“So?” Renley broke the silence, “Did that satisfy your curiosity?” 

“Not in the slightest,” a small smile twitched the corner of his mouth, “But I thank you for trying.” 

He spoke again as she rose from her chair, “The Anchor has allowed you to dream with great focus. It is truly remarkable.” 

“I’ll add it to my resume,” she stifled a yawn. 

“It’s clear now. The oddness of your behavior.” 

Renley threw him a sharp look, “I haven’t done _that_ bad.” 

“No, you haven’t,” Solas tilted his chin, “In fact, I commend you, Inquisitor.” 

Approval. She froze under his declaration. Had she truly earned his blessing? Something didn’t sit right, but there was no time to reflect on her past actions. Or how they’d been perceived by Solas. 

“You’re saying... you’re agreeable to my decisions?” 

“I am,” a beat of silence followed his confirmation. 

“Thank you. I know your approval isn’t given lightly.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment. Neither really knowing how to exit the situation they’d created. 

“Well,” Renley shouldered the burden, “Good day to you.” 

“And to you.” 

She started for her quarters, mystified by the interaction that had taken place. Pale morning sun peaked through stained-glass as she approached the throne. Perhaps she could use her new found free time to try and sleep. 

The Ambassador's voice put a stop to her course, "Inquisitor."

She turned to Josephine with bleary eyes. 

“Your Worship... if you have a moment.”

Renley fixed her features, “Of course.” 

She followed the Ambassador to her office. The hearth radiating a comfortable heat, the scent of fresh flowers prominent as always. 

“The Inquisition has brought in a number of prisoners since its rise to power,” Josephine paced before the fire, “It is time the Inquisitor sat in judgment.” 

Renley folded her arms, gaze fixed on the flame growing larger on fresh fire wood, “How many?” 

“Four,” she paused looking the Inquisitor over, “It needn't be now, of course. You may take the throne at your convenience.” 

“Who are the third and fourth?” 

Her forehead creased, “Your Grace?” 

“Alexius, Erimond...?” 

“Ser Ruth, from the Wardens. And the former mayor of Crestwood.” 

Anger lit her insides. It had been a persistent problem since Adamant. Until now it had been largely under control. 

“Why is Dedrick here?” Renley questioned, her voice rising. 

“Our-” Josephine fumbled her reply, “The Inquisition’s agents brought him in.” 

“On whose orders?” her eyes flashed. It was difficult to pinpoint the origins of her ire. It welled up inside her, growing hotter as she tried to extinguish it. 

An angry flush crept into the Ambassador's cheeks, “He is wanted for crimes against his people.” 

Renley’s knuckles whitened on the back of a wooden chair, “He isn’t our responsibility.” 

“He is _your_ responsibility. You are bound by your duty as Inquisitor to sit in judgment-” 

“That’s not the point!” 

“It is _precisely_ the point!” 

She met the Ambassador's steely glare, her limbs shaking with frustration. 

Josephine exhaled, her words shook with the effort of restraint, “I understand you are grieving-” 

“This has nothing to do with that!” the very suggestion of her actions being motivated by grief fueled her anger further. 

“Then please, enlighten me as to why you are behaving like,” she faltered, brow knitted with conflict. 

“Like what?” a dangerous expression contorted Renley’s features. 

“Like-” 

“Go on Ambassador,” her control was fading fast, “Say it.” 

“Like a child!” 

The creaking of a door interrupted Renley’s response. Leliana entered, expression guarded, “What’s going on here?” 

She looked between the two. A palpable tension hung thick between them. Renley released the chair. Blood rushed back to her fingertips. 

“The Inquisitor is displeased with our handling of Crestwood's former mayor,” Josephine explained, her voice trembling with emotion. 

“I don’t understand why we wasted resources to locate him-” 

“That is the Inquisitions _purpose_. To restore order-” 

Renley’s voice shot up once more, “How is punishing an old man restoring order?” 

“He is responsible for the death of an entire village!” 

“Enough,” Leliana grabbed the sleeve of Renley’s doublet, pulling her away from Josephine and down the hall to the war room. 

Leliana closed the wicket behind them and rounded on Renley, “What is the matter with you?” 

“I gave no orders to have Dedrick brought in.” 

“And how did that lead you to yell at our Ambassador?” she stepped forward, trying to catch Renley’s stare. 

“She,” she withered under the Spymaster’s scrutiny. Ice blue eyes bore into her own. Her senses resurfaced, and with them, shame. 

“I didn’t know...” Renley weighed her words, searching for an excuse, something that would justify her behavior. She found nothing, “I don’t know how to judge him.” 

“Renley,” Leliana grasped her arms squeezing lightly, “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” 

Her eyes burned. Her voice hoarse with exhaustion, “Days.” 

“Go to your chambers,” her tone left no room for argument. 

“Josephine-” 

“I will deal with Josi. Go to your bed. Sleep.” she released Renley and they walked the path to the Ambassador's office in silence. 

Renley exchanged an awkward look with Josephine before leaving Leliana to console her. She paused as she crossed the threshold, the door closing softly behind her. 

The ambient sounds of idle chatter were soothing to her ears. She resolved to visit the apothecary before retiring, knowing it would take more than determination to close her eyes. 

*** 

“This will set you right, Inquisitor.” 

She accepted a small vial of clear liquid from the vendor and set her feet for the great hall. A friendly face greeted her as she crested the stairs to the courtyard. 

Varric gave her a once over, “You look like hell.” 

“I know.” 

The sun was high on a beautiful day in Skyhold. Birds chirped in blooming dogwood trees. Billowy clouds floated lazily overhead. 

“Walk with me,” Varric made for the ramparts with Renley at his side. She slipped the vial in her pocket as they walked. 

“We never really talked after Adamant,” he led her down a wide stone walkway. 

“Varric-” 

“Hold on. Just let me talk.” 

After a moment she began to see their destination. An unoccupied section of battlements overlooking the courtyard. The place where he’d introduced her to Hawke. 

They leaned against the parapet, watching the bustle of activity below. 

“I know you’re angry at her,” Varric continued, “I am too.” 

Renley swallowed hard. 

“But Hawke,” a breeze ruffled his collar, “Letting someone make a sacrifice in her stead... well, that’s not who she was.” 

The finality of the phrasing squeezed at her chest. 

“One day, when the sting wears off a bit, we can go down to the tavern,” he chuckled wryly, “and I’ll tell you about the time Hawke was on a Merchant Guild hit list.” 

Moisture pooled in the corners of Renley’s eyes. Varric’s sorrow was tangible. Listening to him express his hurt tore at her heart. But it was a hurt they shared in, and there was a strange comfort in that. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, “Just remember what she would say at a time like this.” 

Renley sniffed, “What’s that?” 

“I’m not sure. But I know it would be really sarcastic.” 

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she laughed with Varric. Their grief transformed in the face of humor. Like breaking a dam to a droughted valley. 

It was late afternoon when Renley finally found her bed. She drank the elixir in one swallow. Sleep took her as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

*** 

Renley ran through the empty halls of Skyhold. Moonlight crept through the narrow windows. Her shirt clung to her skin. The humidity was overwhelming. She was lost in an endless maze of dim passages. The end of each corridor led to the next. No doors. No sconces. Just stone. 

At long last an eerie glow caught her eye. She hastened toward it. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath came quick and rasping. 

As she neared the source her eyes fell upon the Inquisitor’s throne. The stained-glass window behind it cast vibrant colors across the great hall. Her footsteps echoed as she entered. She turned away from the throne and her eyes fell on a ghostly figure. A familiar white face, shrouded in shadow. 

Rage licked her insides. She ran to the intruder, hand twitching to her dagger. The sheath was empty. She stopped short of the face. It spoke with a tranquil tenor. 

“What are you?” 

“I am nothing,” she breathed. 

The face dissolved in a wisp of smoke. 

“Who are you?” 

She turned in the direction of the disembodied voice, “I am no one.” 

Renley whipped around, searching frantically. The hall was empty. 

“Why are you here?” the voice was at her ear. 

She woke with a start. Drenched in sweat and shaking. She ripped the blankets away and stumbled out of bed, fanning her shirt against damp skin. The face lingered in her mind's eye. 

She pulled on her boots and tucked her shirt into her trousers. All was quiet in Skyhold. The candles had been extinguished hours ago. Only one light remained. She hastened toward it and found Solas, fingertips resting among the scrolls and trinkets on his desk. 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her calmly. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” her jaw ached with tension. 

Solas straightened and placed his hands behind his back, “Perhaps if you could expound?” 

“You’ve been watching my dreams.” 

The mage maintained a mask-like expression, “If you’re referring to yesterday’s-” 

“Don’t lie to me, Solas. Why are you watching me? What are you looking for?” 

“I’ve done nothing-” 

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, “I haven’t slept in days! Because of these dreams you-” 

“If you are having trouble with nightmares I could-” 

“Speak plainly!” she advanced on Solas, “Say something that makes sense for once in your life! Stop talking in riddles. Stop-” 

“I have been nothing but honest with you.” 

His cool unchanging demeanor pushed her over the edge. She grabbed a glass from his desk and flung it against the wall, shattering it to pieces, “What do you want? What are you looking for? Tell me!” 

“What is going on?” Cassandra entered the chamber, taking in the pair with disquiet. 

“The Inquisitor has gone mad.” 

Renley stepped forward, fist cocked. Arms restrained her from behind, “ _Renley!_ ” 

“Stay out of my head,” she spat at Solas. 

“I know you seek her when you dream,” he sneered. She had elicited an emotion from the mage at last, “You won’t find her.” 

Blind rage took over at his words. A scuffle ensued as she fought against the Seeker's grip. Solas stepped back, watching the pair with contempt. 

Cassandra grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over her shoulder. Renley looked up at Solas as they reached the threshold. A flicker of hate danced across the mage’s features. 

The Seeker marched her across the great hall like a sack of potatoes. She writhed against her arms. Her only wish was to pry her answers from Solas with force. 

Cassandra kicked open the door to the Ambassador's office. She dropped her captive in a heap on the floor. Renley jumped to her feet and shoved the other. She regretted it immediately, shrinking under the Seeker's glare. 

“Get a hold of yourself!” 

Renley breathed heavily, heart pounding in her ears, “Did you hear what he said to me?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“He’s haunting me!” her voice shook with anger, “He’s the reason I haven’t been sleeping!” 

Cassandra eyed her wearily. 

“You know he’s capable of it,” her voice cracked, “Why would I lie about this?” 

“Enough,” she grasped Renley’s shoulders and steered her toward the door, “You must sleep.” 

Renley turned around, “Listen to what I’m saying-” 

Cassandra grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward the great hall, “What am I?” 

“A bouncer, apparently.” 

“I am a Seeker,” they started up the steps to Renley’s quarters, “As a Seeker, I have abilities that allow me to dispel magic and sense the fade. I will _ensure_ you have a dreamless sleep.” 

The Seeker relented her hold as they entered the chamber. She pointed to the bed, “Sit.” 

Renley huffed and sank down onto the sheets, not even bothering to remove her boots. She crossed her arms and leaned against the headboard. One leg slung over the edge. 

She opened her mouth to speak but was quelled with a look. As the minutes ticked by, her eyes grew heavy. A dreamless sleep enveloped her, just as Cassandra had promised. 

*** 

Questions swirled in the Seekers mind as the night wore on. The Inquisitor's behavior had spiraled, and for what reason? Grief? Lack of sleep? A combination of the two? 

Her own coping manifested in a similar manner. She remembered too well her anger after her brother's murder. Blinded with frustration, she begged her uncle to send her to the Templar Order. Instead, she was given to the Seekers of Truth. 

She had seethed initially, vexed by the lack of martial training, haunted by her desires for vengeance. But the Seekers taught her something infinitely more important. Control. 

The sky lightened to a murky grey. A storm brewed on the horizon. Lightning flashed within dark clouds, illuminating the skyline with astonishing detail. Renley leaned over at last, the rise and fall of her breathing deepened. 

Cassandra sighed. Morning was still a few hours away, and her own eyes stung with the effort of keeping them open. She sat at the Inquisitor's desk, fully intending to continue her vigil. But her eyes were exceedingly heavy... 

*** 

A flicker of lightning lit the room followed by a low rumble. Cassandra was vaguely aware that they were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” a voice whispered on her left. 

The Seeker stiffened, “Leliana. What-” 

“Come,” the Spymaster stood from her crouch, “Let’s speak outside.” 

Cool winds greeted them on the balcony. Dark clouds loomed ever closer. They leaned over the baluster watching the distant weather wage war. 

“My spies informed me of a disturbance in the night,” Leliana began in a low voice, “A clash between our Inquisitor and spirit mage.” 

“She blames him for her lack of sleep,” she watched the Spymaster carefully, “What do you know?” 

“Very little, in truth,” she adjusted her hood, shrouding her features in shadow, “Only that she does not trust him.” 

Cassandra cut her gaze across the other, “Why?” 

Leliana responded with silence. 

“What did she tell you?” the Seeker’s voice betrayed her burning curiosity, “In the dungeons of Haven?” 

The sky bruised at the sun's arrival. 

“She was scared,” Leliana answered in hushed tones, “She woke up beyond the fade. In a world she didn’t recognize. And she found a confidant in me. Why, I can’t really say. But she told me about her world, and about the being of light who guided her to safety...” 

“You protected her. Kept her secrets because you believed Most Holy wanted you to.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you keep them still,” she peered at the Spymaster, “Is Solas a problem?” 

“Not at this time.” 

“But he will be?” 

“It is impossible to say. But at this time, his presence is a benefit to the Inquisition.” 

Silence yawned between them. Though much had been left unsaid, the conversation had met its end. Cassandra left Leliana on the balcony. With one last look at the sleeping Inquisitor, she descended the stairs to the great hall. 

*** 

Renley awoke to the sound of thunder. She sat up and stretched, breathing in the scent of rain. Her slumber had seen the return of clarity in her mind. 

Her eyes landed on Leliana, lounging in a chair next to her bed. She was an ominous sight, fingering Renley’s dagger in leather clad hands. 

“You’ve had a busy night,” the Spymaster murmured. 

Renley swiveled her legs out of bed, “Well, this is unnerving.” 

Her lips curled at the corners, “Would you have rather woken up to Cassandra at your side?” 

“It might have been slightly less intimidating.” 

Leliana chuckled, “So. Who can we expect to encounter your wrath today?” 

“No one," she replied with a wry smile, "It turns out sleep _is_ a necessity. And I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do.” 

“You do, indeed,” she sighed, “Let us eat breakfast first. Chasing you around Skyhold is hungry work.” 


	31. Introductions and Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the criminal justice system, apocalypse based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.

“You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgment of your aid,” the Ambassador approached the Inquisitor as she introduced the first of the day’s transgressors. 

The throne of judgement felt thorny under Renley’s seat. Her fingers tightened on rosewood arms as Inquisition soldiers brought forth the magister. 

“The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination,” she looked up from her writing board and fixed Renley with a tepid look, “On your own life, no less.” 

The Ambassador was still cross with her understandably so. And after Renley’s most recent misconduct, it seemed as though their ties would remain formal, to put it in a kinder light. 

“Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit.” 

Alexius glared up at the throne, “You’ve won noth-” 

“Stop talking,” the Inquisitor’s command rang through the hall. 

“The crimes you have committed against the people of Thedas are heinous,” her words cut through the hush that had fallen over the assembly, “You attempted to aid an evildoer in his rise to godhood. An action that would result in the pain and suffering of millions. Your punishment will be comparable.” 

Renley couldn’t deny the grim satisfaction she got from dolling out her verdict. It sickened her. 

“You will be made tranquil and given over to the servitude of enchanter Fiona. You will help us prevent the events that were witnessed in the dark future.” 

The soldiers jerked the magister around and marched him from the hall. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they waited for the next sentencing. 

“Ser Ruth is a senior Warden of the Order.” 

Soldiers brought forth a broad-shouldered woman as Josephine spoke. She had been stripped of her armor leaving navy trousers and a rumpled linen shirt. 

“She was one of the many who slit the throat of another to bind a demon. She does not contest this.” 

Ser Ruth kept her eyes on the floor, her shoulders hunched under the weight of contrition. Pity struck Renley’s chest. 

“In fact,” Josephine continued, “She surrendered to us. She requests no mercy. She wants the public justice of the headman’s axe.” 

“A headman’s axe seems an easy out,” Renley eyed the Warden. 

“There is no excuse for my actions,” Ser Ruth looked up at last, her eyes the embodiment of self-loathing, “I murdered another of the Order. That blood marks me more than the Blight ever could.” 

“You are still a Warden, regardless of your crimes,” the hall was deathly quiet in anticipation of the ruling, “You will go to the Deep Roads. There you can atone to your heart’s content.” 

“This-” 

“The judgment is final,” Renley nodded to the soldiers. The hall buzzed with whispers as they marched Ser Ruth away. 

An exhale on her right drew her attention. Renley locked eyes with the Ambassador. 

“Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood,” Josephine paused as the clink of chains and thud of boots grew closer, “Present for betraying his own constituents.” 

She turned to the soldiers as they shoved Dedrick toward the throne, “He confesses that ten years ago, he flooded Old Crestwood to kill refugees and villagers touched by the blight. The mayor claims it was to spare the rest of Crestwood, but we only have his word.” 

Renley heaved a great sigh and sat forward in her throne, “What say you, Dedrick?” 

“There’s no cure for the blight!” the man’s voice was tremulous, “But I couldn’t convince anyone to leave a sick child or husband behind.” 

“So, you herded the infected into one place and flooded Old Crestwood?” Josephine looked down on Dedrick with contempt, “Were no innocents caught in the waters?” 

“Nearly everyone in the village had the Blight, I swear it!” Dedrick pleaded, “Have mercy. I couldn’t tell the survivors I’d drowned their own families to save them, I- I couldn’t.” 

“You can’t outrun responsibility,” said Renley quietly, “We will escort you back to Crestwood. You will face the consequence of your actions under the audience of the ones it affected.” 

“Maker. I-” the soldiers grabbed Dedrick and half drug him from the hall. 

Renley looked to Josephine again. The Ambassador’s expression was impassive. They exchanged fleeting glances, and the final transgressor was announced. 

“Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium.” 

Silence rang through the hall as the soldiers positioned him before the throne. 

“We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head. In more colorful terms.” 

Renley’s knuckles whitened on rosewood. The disdain she harbored for this man knew no limit. 

“To say nothing of justice you might... personally require,” the Ambassador’s voice darkened, “for what was suffered in the fade.” 

The Inquisitor stood from her throne and straightened her jerkin, “Bring me my sword.” 

Erimond’s eyes widened, “I recognize none of this proceeding. You have no authority to judge me.” 

“On the contrary,” Josephine came to Renley’s side and looked down her nose at the mage, “Many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter.” 

“Thank you, Josephine,” Renley murmured. They touched eyes, united if only for a moment. 

She turned back to Erimond and nodded to the soldiers. They drug him to the courtyard where he would await his sentencing. 

A light touch warmed her arm. She looked again to the Ambassador. 

“You did well, Your Worship.” 

Renley sighed, “It’s not over yet.” 

*** 

The people of Skyhold stirred before a crude wooden platform on a beautiful, cloudless day. The soldiers forced Erimond to his knees and pushed him down onto the chopping block. 

Renley unsheathed the Inquisitor’s Blade. A greatsword with a mirror shine, its hilt reflected gold in the sun’s light. 

“You free me with death,” spat Erimond, “I would have killed you at the ritual tower if not for that Ferelden dog f-” 

The rest of his sentence was cut off, along with his head. It hit the wood with a thud. A soldier was at her side in an instant. The sword was shepherded away for cleaning and Renley set her feet for the tallest tower in Skyhold. 

“Inquisitor," a strong voice halted her advance, "If I could have a word."

She turned to the source and found a well-toned mercenary with a sharp jaw and smoldering eyes. 

“Name’s Krem. I have a message for you from the Bull’s Chargers.” 

Renley lit up as she grasped a callused hand, “Well met, Krem.” 

“The Iron Bull would like to lend his arms to the Inquisition. We’re stationed at the Storm Coast, if you have a mind to check us out.” 

“I think we can manage that.” 

“Well, that was easy,” Krem flashed a dazzling grin at her. 

She smiled in turn, “Why the hesitation in seeking us out?” 

“The Chargers don’t bear arms for just anyone. But we want a hand in bringing those responsible for this mess to justice. Taking up with the Inquisition seems the best route in accomplishing that.” 

“We’ll take all the help we can get.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Krem glanced at the soldiers hauling Erimond’s beheaded corpse from the platform, “We look forward to treating with you at the Storm Coast.” 

“Stop by the tavern before you head out. Have a drink and a meal on the Inquisitor.” 

“Thank you, ser. Until we meet again.” 

*** 

A comfortable breeze sifted through a nearby window. Renley laid her coat over the back of a chair and unfastened her jerkin, revealing the linen beneath it. 

She sat at the Spymaster’s desk for a while, eyes glazing, fingering the rim of a dusty glass, half empty with brown liquor. Her thoughts were numbed with drink. 

Old wood creaked alerting her to the approach of another. She straightened up and folded her hands on the desk before her. 

Leliana crested the stairs. The waning sun outlined her frame in a warm glow. She lowered her hood as she took in Renley. Her lips tilted at the corners, “Well this is unnerving.” 

Renley raised her brow, “Would you rather have entered to Cassandra sitting at your desk?” 

“It would have been exceedingly more intimidating,” her golden crown fell away as she moved from the window. 

“Even after becoming the Inquisitor, I’m still no match.” 

“You certainly pulled forward today,” she nodded to Renley’s shoulder, “You have blood on your shirt.” 

“How?” she creased her brow and looked down, “My shirt wasn’t even showing.” 

“Playing executioner is messy work,” she took the whiskey bottle from its place among broken quills and old letters, examining the peeling label, “You sat the throne well.” 

“My bottom is sore from the effort.” 

The Spymaster rolled her eyes, “Then how about some airing out?” 

Renley snorted, “Um-” 

“A trip to Sulcher’s Pass,” glass thumped wood as she sat the bottle down and fixed Renley with a cold stare, “An envoy from the House of Repose.” 

After a moment’s consideration, Renley rose from her seat, “I don’t get the sense we’re bringing Josephine along.” 

“No,” her scrutiny intensified, “You and I will handle this alone.” 

Renley smirked, “On your head be it.” 

The Spymaster’s stony exterior crumbled, “And you wonder why you aren’t as fearsome as the Seeker? When you tremble at the wrath of our Ambassador?” 

“Well, you know what they say,” Renley smiled as their eyes met. Her sense waned as she took in the other’s teasing gaze, “About scorn. And women and such...” 

Leliana sighed, a smirk lingering on her lips, “I can say with complete confidence that I have no idea what it is you are trying to say.” 

*** 

Once night had fallen, the pair braved the mountain pass. Breath fogged from their hoods as they steered their mounts for Sulcher’s Pass. Armor had been spared in favor of more stealthy habits. 

Reney looked over her companion. It wasn’t uncommon for Leliana to don lighter clothing in lieu of her chainmail, on slow days in particular. But for their venture she was leather-clad and cloaked in dark twill. The Spymaster had shed her skin revealing an adventurer whose exploits were known throughout Thedas. 

Leliana took notice of her gaze. Her cheek turned up as she looked back to the trail, “Something wrong?” 

“No,” Renley was grateful for the cover of darkness, for she was certain her cheeks had reddened, “No it’s just,” she cleared her throat, “Your wardrobe. It set me in mind of earlier adventures.” 

“Oh?” her voice was thick with amusement, “What sort of earlier adventures?” 

“Well, your adventures. Killing Archdemons, exploring the deep roads-” 

“Romancing companions?” 

Renley smiled ruefully, “And here we’d managed to go a full two months without you mentioning it.” 

“How could I resist striking such an easy target?” 

“No self-control,” jested Renley, “Pathetic.” 

“Tread lightly, Inquisitor,” her voice lowered dangerously, “This advisor will not suffer your wrath.” 

“Hm,” Renley kicked lightly at her horse, “I’m just going to pull ahead a little. Get out of striking range.” 

“And turn your back on the enemy?” she spurred her mount and drew even, “Cassandra’s training is useless.” 

“I’m telling her you said that.” 

They trotted the remainder of the way. Threatening one another and bickering in the way they were wont to do. 

A quiet fell over them as they approached the tavern. The village was eerily still. Shadow crept around every corner, thickened by a moonless night. They hitched their horses clumsily in the absence of light. 

The door creaked as they entered. A single lantern lit the barkeep. He eyed them wearily, his eyes flicking to the corner where a lone figure sat bathed in shadow. 

“At long last,” the stranger spoke as Renley sat before her, “The Inquisitor graces me with her presence.” 

Renley felt Leliana’s cloak brush her shoulder. 

“Does your escort wish to sit?” asked the stranger. 

“I’m sure if she did, she would.” 

“As you say,” she pulled a yellowing bit of parchment from her cloak. 

Renley eyed it greedily, “What do you want?” 

“A contract for a contract,” she laid her hand on the edge of the table. 

“I’m not sure I have the authority to grant you that.” 

“But I am, Your Grace,” her honeyed words were writhe with pleasure. The stranger savored her revelations, “We require the Arcanist.” 

The silence that followed was thick with questions. 

“Clear a path for us. And this contract,” she raised the parchment, “is yours.” 

“You will have neither,” breathed Renley. 

“Or we will have both.” 

“I won’t allow it.” 

“Come now, Inquisitor,” the stranger leaned forward ever so slightly revealing a pointed chin and full lips, the corners tilted in a wicked smile, “We are quite familiar with Skyhold’s halls. All you need do is leave the dwarf-” 

Renley ripped her dagger from its sheath. A breeze blew through the room extinguishing the lantern and casting the tavern in total darkness. A cloak swished on her left. She lunged at it and a scuffle ensued. 

Another pair of hands joined the fray and Renley found herself tripping over a chair and onto a table. Its leg snapped with a crack and she fell to the ground bringing a robed figure with her. 

A crackling light flashed through the tavern, illuminating the chaos for the briefest of moments. Her hair stood on end as the tavern’s furniture crashed into its walls. The sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood followed. 

Renley regained her footing and turned in the darkness feeling for the stranger. Her hands found fabric and she took hold of the figure, bringing her dagger up to the others chin. 

Light flooded the room and her eyes fell on Leliana, the skin of her neck straining beneath her blade. As she processed what was before her, she felt a prick at her throat. The pair mirrored each other, seconds away from inflicting deadly wounds on one another. 

They looked sharply to the bar. 

The barkeep watched them with a panicked expression, his knuckles white around the handle of a freshly lit lantern. He pointed to the door and spoke in a trembling voice, “She fled.” 

The trail went cold just beyond the threshold. Snow fell like down from the sky, covering the earth with fresh white powder. 

"Shit," spat Renley, "So our assassin is a mage, then?"

"So it would seem," Leliana peered into the night, "Let's get out of this cold."

*** 

Renley’s fingers were frozen and trembling on the reins of her mount as they entered Skyhold’s courtyard. The snow had dampened their cloaks plaguing them with a chill that went bone deep. 

They stabled their horses and set weary feet for the castle. The great hall was perfectly still, its stained-glass windows looming over the seat of judgment. A dark dream echoed through Renley’s mind as they neared the throne. 

“What do you suppose they want with Dagna?” asked Renley. 

“Not here,” the Spymaster sliced her gaze over their surroundings, “Let us speak in my office.” 

A shiver rolled through Renley’s shoulders, “The tower is freezing. Let's go to my chambers instead.” 

Moments later they crested the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters, shivering and breathless. They shed their icy cloaks and Renley knelt before the hearth, trying to bring the fire to life with fumbling fingers numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Leliana crouched down and took the striker. A spark turned to flame and spread through the kindling. They basked in the glow as fire took hold of the wood. 

Renley sighed, “Well, that accomplished nothing.” 

“Not nothing,” Leliana reached into her shirt and pulled out a yellowing piece of parchment. 

“You sneak,” Renley huffed in astonishment. She took the parchment and looked it over, “I suppose we should burn it?” 

“Just so. We can't have our Ambassador unsettling the Inquisitor again, can we?” 

“Very funny,” she tucked the contract between two logs. They watched as it burned, one problem reduced to smoke. Another born from its ashes. 

“Dagna,” Renley sat back and tucked her legs beneath her, “If what the assassin said was true, then the House of Repose has eyes in Skyhold.” 

“It’s not impossible. You said yourself that Fen’Harel’s agents would infiltrate eventually.” 

“Yeah, but they aren’t trying to murder our people.” 

They sat before the crackling hearth, gazing at the embers, thoughts roaming. 

A mischievous smile tugged at Renley’s lips, “I almost slit your throat.” 

“Ah, yes,” Leliana eyed her in amusement, “I recall vividly you fumbling around in the dark while my blade had all but drawn blood.” 

Renley huffed, “If you say so.” 

They lingered in the warmth of flickering flame, scheming and surmising. The pair parted ways when the fire burned low and the chill thawed from their bones. Renley climbed into bed and gave over to a dreamless sleep. 


	32. A Bard's Persuasion

Getting out of Skyhold and back on the road had Renley’s spirits soaring. The Hinterlands lay in wait, and she wanted nothing more than to feel the mild lake winds tousling her hair. 

A falcon's cry pierced the air. Renley smirked as talons landed nimbly on her shoulder. 

“Ygritte,” she greeted the bird fondly. 

“The Spymaster’s stool pigeon keeps a close eye on you these days,” Dorian looked down his nose at the bird. 

Renley and Harding gave noises of reproach. 

“What?” he continued, “If one acts like a pigeon, I’ll refer to them as such.” 

“All birds poop, Dorian,” replied Renley, “It’s just unfortunate that Ygritte happened to do it on your head.” 

“He did it on purpose.” 

“How old are you?” Varric creased his cheek at the mage. 

“The understanding Ygritte has displayed is incredible for a falcon,” Dagna twisted in her saddle to look back at them, “I wonder what his exact species is? Perhaps there’s magic in his blood.” 

Ygritte clucked his beak and turned an eye her way. 

Renley frowned, “Ever heard of a magic falcon, Cassandra?” 

When no answer was made, she looked over her shoulder. The Seeker kept her eyes forward, showing no interest in joining their discussion. Renley looked to her right. Varric’s mouth was a thin line, his eyes down cast and full of mirth. 

Cassandra steered her mount to the front of the line. Renley watched her pass with quiet perplexity. 

Varric released his breath, “Take it from someone who's known the wrath of the Seeker...” 

Renley tore her gaze from the Seeker’s back and fixed Varric with an unblinking stare. 

“Duck first,” he smirked, “Ask questions later.” 

*** 

Redcliffe was a pleasant sight for the companions. They hitched their horses and strolled through the village amidst smiles and cheerful greetings. Four of their number hung back as they approached the Gull & Lantern. Renley stood with Dorian at the threshold. 

“Are you ready?” she asked him. 

“We’ve faced down Archdemons,” he waggled his eyebrows, “A retainer is the least of our worries.” 

They entered the tavern and found it empty of patrons. 

“Dorian,” a voice drew their attention to the stairs. A handsome older man with graying hair descended. 

“Father,” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. 

“Perhaps an Archdemon would have been a more welcome sight?” suggested Renley. 

“I am sorry for the deception,” magister Pavus addressed her, “I never intended for you to be involved.” 

“What is this exactly, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” 

Pavus sighed in frustration, “This is how it has always been.” 

Renley’s stomach boiled, “Is the snake displeased that his prey bites back?” 

“A snake,” spat Dorian, “An apt characterization. And you don’t even know the half of it. But maybe you should.” 

“Dorian,” the magister’s expression tightened, “there is no need to-” 

“I prefer the company of men,” he cut across his father's words, “My father disapproves.” 

“This display is uncalled for,” reprimanded Pavus. 

“No,” replied Dorian, “It is called for. You called for it by luring me here.” 

“This is not what I wanted.” 

“I’m never what you wanted, father. Or had you forgotten?” 

“Dorian,” Renley went to his side, “This moment is yours. What do you want to do?” 

“Let’s go,” he threw a look of disdain at his father, “There’s nothing more to be gained here.” 

The sun pricked their eyes as they left the dim lighting of the tavern. They set their feet for the lake in silence. 

“I’m sorry, Dorian.” 

“There’s no need for that. The Pavus family dramatics will always find a way to resurface.” 

Water lapped at rocky shores. 

“I admire you greatly,” said Renley, “I never had much luck confronting my own that way.” 

“Facing Corypheus and his demon army is a cake walk in comparison,” Dorian agreed. 

“The influence parents have to elicit emotions from us is unfair. Especially when wielded in such a way,” Renley sighed, “I never forgave my own father.” 

“Do you regret it?” 

“I don’t know. But my life is my own. And I wouldn’t trade my autonomy for anyone or anything.” 

“Then let’s go, shall we? Let us not linger in their shadows a moment longer.” 

“Well said.” 

They found their way back to the companions and retrieved their mounts. 

“Where to next, boss?” called Varric. 

Renley turned to Harding, “How far to Crestwood?” 

“Two days at most,” Harding noted the suns position in the sky, “There’s an Inquisition camp nearby we can stay at for the night.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Renley placed a foot in the stirrup, poised to hoist herself into the saddle. 

“Tomorrow is still a long way off. Perhaps the Inquisition could use a bard around their fire?” 

She turned to the voice to see wild red curls and piercing green eyes draw near. They stopped just short of Renley. 

“It’s good to see you,” the woman bowed her head and looked up beneath her brow, “Your Grace.” 

Renley hesitated, still tensed to mount her horse. 

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” smirked the bard. 

“Ezra,” she released the saddle and found her footing. 

“So?” Ezra looked her over with amusement, “Is the Inquisition agreeable to my services?” 

“Remember our manors, Inquisitor, “Dorian brushed past her and placed an arm around Ezra’s shoulders. He steered her away and along the trail, “Now tell me, how are you with Tevinter ballads?” 

Renley watched them go with a sinking feeling. A hand touched her shoulder. She glanced at its owner, her jaw aching already with tension. 

“I can send her away,” offered Cassandra. 

“No,” Renley sighed, “It’s just weird is all.” 

“Come on then.” 

Renley grabbed the reins of her horse as they started forward. 

“Really?” Varric called after the pair, “That’s it? No book to the face? No punches? Chases? Anything?” 

*** 

The nearest camp was tucked into a rocky bend. A decrepit stone tower added to its cover. Overall, the encampment felt secure, and once the bard’s song echoed through the clearing, it was very comfortable indeed. 

“Are you cross with me?” Dorian came to Renley’s side and offered her a tankard of ale. 

“No,” she watched the bard enchant the soldiers, her hair falling in ringlets about her face, “Well, maybe.” 

“She’s very charming,” he looked between the two with a sly smile, “And I sense something there.” 

Renley tore her gaze away and fixed him with a somber expression. 

“Come now,” he eyed her knowingly, “You must admit she’s...” he paused as he looked at the bard, “Well she’s really quite familiar now that you mention it.” 

He studied Ezra a moment longer, realization creeping into his features, “Oh. The fade-” 

“The fade, yeah,” Renley’s words were a touch harsher than she intended. 

“They really aren’t that similar,” Dorian tried to reason. 

“No?” 

“No,” he furrowed his brow, “I mean sure, there’s the hair...” 

“Go on.” 

“The eyes of course.” 

“She’s Corey, Dorian,” she looked back to the bard, “The spitting image.” 

They sipped their drinks in silence. Stars blinked to life in a deep purple sky. A roaring bonfire cast dancing shadows along the towering rock face. Laughter and music filled the clearing. 

Renley rose to her feet, “I could use a walk.” 

“Would you like some company?” 

“No. I’d just like to step away from,” she gestured toward Ezra and the soldiers, “this.” 

She squeezed Dorian’s shoulder before withdrawing, “See you later.” 

Her feet found a small earthen path that wound along the rocky bend. The trail grew rougher until it opened into a large clearing. All was quiet. She watched as stars populated the sky with a brilliance that quieted her mind. 

A silky voice disturbed her peace, “The festivities weren’t to your liking?” 

“I’ve had my fill,” Renley kept her eyes on the horizon as Ezra came to her side. 

“Does my presence displease you?” 

“I’ve other things on my mind.” 

Ezra hummed in amusement, “I’m sure your tent would prove a more comfortable setting.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she drew further into the clearing. 

The bard kept pace, “I have a good ear. If you mean to unburden your thoughts.” 

“I don’t.” 

Ezra cut in front of Renley, halting her advance. They stood beneath sparkling constellations, a gentle breeze sweeping through a green meadow dotted with wildflowers. 

“Why won’t you meet my eye?” asked Ezra softly. 

Renley clenched her jaw, “That’s an intensely personal question for a stranger to ask.” 

Fingers grazed her cheek. She cut her gaze at the bard with every intention of telling her off. But emerald eyes ensnared her. Her pulse quickened as Ezra came closer. Renley found herself brushing an auburn curl from the other's cheek. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of honeysuckle. 

A menacing hiss broke her trance. They pulled apart to find themselves surrounded by hatchlings. 

“Stay behind me,” breathed Renley as she drew her sword. Her words were met with the sound of ripping fabric. She turned to find Ezra tearing a slit in her skirt with an old iron dagger. 

“What?” she murmured, “This dress isn’t exactly maneuverable.” 

A hatchling scurried forward and snapped its jaws at Renley. She brought her sword down and caught it square in the neck. The others rushed forward as she withdrew her blade. 

The following scuffle was a blur of talons and scales. The hatchlings were hardy beasts, their hide as sturdy as chainmail. Razor sharp claws sliced through Renley’s shoulder. And another at her side. 

At long last only one remained. As Renley swung her sword, it whipped around and slashed its tail, sweeping her feet out from under her. She landed painfully on her back, a mouthful of knives bearing down on her. 

Ezra drug her blade across its throat, splattering Renley in a shower of red. 

Renley groaned as she wrenched herself upright. She accepted Ezra’s hand and regained her footing, looking around at the hatchling corpses. Pain seared in her shoulder as the adrenaline ebbed away. 

She turned to Ezra and looked her over, “Are you alright?” 

“I am,” she eyed their surroundings nervously, “We should hurry back.” 

They stumbled along the dark trail and back to camp. Eyes turned to them as they entered the bonfire’s light. 

“Inquisitor,” Harding hastened to them as she took in Renley’s appearance. She could feel the blood soaking her shirt, the leather of her unsheathed sword in her hand. 

“What happened?” Cassandra approached her side. 

“Wandered into a dragon’s den apparently,” mumbled Renley. 

The Seeker grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward a tent. 

“This is becoming a habit of yours,” Reney jested. 

A brazier warmed the tent at its middle. Cassandra released her and went to a table laden with jars and linen, “Remove your coat.” 

Renley shrugged the leather from her shoulders, wincing as it rubbed at her wounds. 

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she returned to Renley with a handful of bandages and poultice, “Walking into a dragon den in the middle of the night?” 

“It wasn’t intentional,” her shirt clung to skin as she pulled it up, revealing three large claw marks just below her ribs. 

She shivered as Cassandra dabbed it with poultice. The bleeding slowed and she pressed a bandage to the wound, securing it with a long strip of linen that she tied roughly around Renley’s waist. She gave it an extra tug. The force of it sent a wave of pain through her side. 

“Ow!” Renley threw a dirty look at her, “Careful.” 

“Have you listened to nothing I’ve taught you?” she moved to Renley’s shoulder, “Of awareness? Of control?” 

“Of course, I-” she groaned as the Seeker pressed a bundle of linen abruptly to her arm, “What is the matter with you?” 

They glared at each other for a long moment. 

“Going off on your own tonight was foolish,” Cassandra finished bandaging her shoulder. 

“I’m not arguing,” mumbled Renley. 

“Good.” 

An awkward silence lay thick between them. 

“Get some rest then,” Cassandra stood and made for the tent flap, “We have a long road ahead.” 

Renley sighed as she watched her go. She laid down on the nearest cot and gazed at the brazier. She found that what she longed for in that moment was a cold, drafty tower where she could unburden her worries to her confidant. 

*** 

Morning came cool and dark. Last night’s merriment cast its shadow over the encampment. Few soldiers were stirring, and fewer still were productive. But they all straightened up when Renley exited her tent. 

“Ser,” one soldier saluted her, his visage a sickly hue of green. 

She eyed him for a long moment, all too familiar with the less desirable effects of consumption. He leaned over and expelled the contents of his stomach at her feet. The clearing fell silent. Renley waited for him to finish, trying her hardest to hide her smirk. 

The soldier found his feet with shaking limbs, “S-sorry, ser.” 

Renley stepped around the sick and paused at the soldier's side, “Bring me some ale and we’ll call it even.” 

Conversations resumed as she made her way to the edge of the encampment. She found Harding there, sipping from a tankard while she watched the morning routine unfold. 

“Inquisitor.” 

“Harding,” she sat on a stump and surveyed their surroundings, “Where’s Dagna?” 

“The requisition table.” 

Renley smirked, “Of course.” 

The soldier returned to Renley and handed her a tankard. He saluted and made his way to the other side of the clearing where he was met with jeers from his mates. 

“So, is Skyhold really as dangerous as the field these days?” Harding asked in a low voice. 

“I don’t know. Out here, at least, there’s no guessing. We have our companions, and we have everyone else,” she brought the tankard to her lips, “How’s her training coming along?” 

“She’s proven to be quite resourceful but, let’s be honest. Subtlety isn’t her strong suit,” she paused as a couple of scouts walked by, “I’m not sure how she’d fare against an assassin.” 

“Let’s hope we don’t find out.” 

They fell silent as a familiar figure spotted them across the clearing. Ezra had found boots and trousers to replace her torn skirts. The old dagger was visible at her hip beneath a short cloak. 

“Your Grace,” the corners of her lips twisted in a teasing smile as she voiced the title, “Might I have a word?” 

Renley looked up from her drink, “You may.” 

“If you’d be agreeable, I wish to accompany the Inquisition to Crestwood.” 

Reney raised a brow at her, “What’s in Crestwood?” 

“Stories, of course.” 

She eyed the bard with mild irritation, “We really can’t afford to be weighed down.” 

“I think I’ve more than proven I can handle myself,” her eyes flicked to Renley’s torn coat shoulder. 

“We have no horses to spare.” 

“Luckily I’ve mastered the skill of walking.” 

They eyed each other for a drumbeat. Renley silently cursed herself as she stood, “Fine. But we won’t break pace for you.” 

“Understood, Inquisitor.” 

*** 

The final preparations had been made, and the companions sat astride their mounts steeled for the journey ahead. Renley looked down at Ezra. She traveled light with nothing but the clothes on her back and a lute on her shoulder. 

She sighed and extended a hand to the bard. 

“Are you certain?” Ezra smirked, “I wouldn’t want to weigh down your steed.” 

“Before I change my mind?” 

Ezra took hold of her arm and hoisted herself into the saddle behind Renley. Arms encircled her waist as she spurred her mount forward. The party ventured forth with one added to their number. 

“So,” Ezra spoke at her ear, “What awaits the Inquisition in Crestwood?” 

“A trial.” 

“Of who?” 

“Gregory Dedrick,” Renley set her shoulders, her eyes glued to the path ahead, “Crestwood’s former mayor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a refresher on Ezra, see the end of Chapter 11- A Chance Encounter


	33. The Precipice

The swirling green seas were as vibrant as ever in Crestwood. Strong lake winds tousled rolling hills of thick grassland, creating an enchanting current of emerald waves. It was truly a sight to behold. One of many that Renley had come to love in Thedas. But something was amiss. 

An uneasiness had taken hold of her. Perhaps due to her quarrels with Cassandra, or her worrying over Dagna. More likely still, it could be Dedrick’s upcoming trial troubling her most. Whatever the case, her intuition advised vigilance. But their newest bard companion made it exceedingly difficult to heed its warnings. 

Ezra was irresistibly charming, and the closeness of their travel arrangements made her down right impossible to ignore. The sweet scent of her scarlet curls, her voice the quality of satin as it spoke at her ear, her stories brought to life with the skill of a master wordsmith. It was all a bit ridiculous. 

Renley pulled at the reins of her mount, slowing it to a stop. 

“Something wrong, boss?” Varric called to her. 

“Just a little saddle sore,” she replied, “How much further to Crestwood?” 

“A little under a half hour,” answered Harding. 

“Scout ahead for me,” Renley slid from her mount and handed the reins to Ezra, “I mean to walk from here.” 

A notch formed on Harding’s brow, “If you insist.” 

“I do,” she patted the side of her horse and addressed Ezra, “Give my mount over to Inquisition agents when you get to the Caer.” 

“And I expect I’ll see you there?” the bard smirked down at her, as though she already knew the answer. 

Renley sighed, “I expect you will.” 

The sound of boots hitting dirt drew her gaze. Cassandra walked forward and tied her horse to Dorian’s saddle. The party pulled ahead, leaving the two in a delicate cloud of dust. 

“Keeping an eye on me?” asked Renley. 

“Lest you wander into a wyvern’s lair,” she replied dryly. 

They set off in silence. Renley kept her sights on the road ahead. Rippling meadows sloped downward becoming dotted with boulders and thistle. The path veered right and their eyes fell upon a distant orchard. 

Renley had her suspicions of what motivated Cassandra’s manner of late. It all stemmed from an exchange of secrets between her and the Spymaster. Even lies would prove futile in smoothing things over. Because a choice had been made, and there’d be no going back on that decision. 

Even though she understood the cause, she still found accepting the result difficult. The Seeker was her second closest friend, bested only because of the knowledge that bound Renley and Leliana. She couldn’t be sure if she had the wits to confront Cassandra. To navigate the lies and secrets that the other knew were being withheld. 

But the disquiet in Renley’s mind was unrelenting, and if her urges were to get the better of her, why not have it happen with one she could trust? 

“Are you angry with me?” Renley stopped just beyond the shade of an apple tree. 

Cassandra continued walking. 

“Hey,” she caught up with the Seeker and eyed her with annoyance, “I asked you a question.” 

“And I don’t wish to answer it.” 

Renley released her breath, “You don’t want to answer it?” 

“No,” she kept her eyes forward, cold and aloof. 

“Great,” she spread her arms and stopped once more, “My most trusted companion is ignoring me.” 

That did it. She rounded on Renley with a look that rivaled a dragon’s roar, “Your most trusted companion?” 

Renley stood her ground as the other advanced, “Yeah.” 

“So, you’ve kept nothing from me?” 

“Of course, I’ve kept things from you,” she let her hands fall to her side. 

Cassandra’s expression tightened, “You admit it?” 

“I do.” 

“And you would still question my resentment?” 

A gentle breeze shook loose the petals of apple blossoms. They drifted down and danced about their boots in a swirl of pink and white, belittling their argument. 

“I don’t question it,” Renley replied. 

It had all been so much easier in the beginning. When they were just characters with set responses and predictable actions. But they were off the rails now, and Renley found herself struggling to regulate her responses, “I just want you on my side again.” 

“I’ve been on your side,” Cassandra stepped forward and jabbed a finger at her, “ _by_ your side from the very beginning. Which is why it aggravates me that you wouldn’t choose me to confide in.” 

“It wasn’t a calculated decision,” Renley tried to weigh her words, but she could feel her emotions getting the better of her. 

“Not at first, but a year has passed since you made it.” 

She made no reply. 

“Leliana is the mind,” concluded Cassandra, “And I am the muscle. Let us leave it at that.” 

She turned away and Renley grabbed her arm, “You’re right.” 

Cassandra jerked free of her grasp. 

“You aren’t Leliana,” Renley continued, “You aren’t secretive and scheming-” she positioned herself in front of the Seeker blocking her retreat. Cassandra stepped forward and Renley pushed her, “You’re me!” 

She glared at Renley, fuming at her nerve. 

Renley prodded further, “You’re angry. And when control isn’t an option anymore you can’t smother it,” she shoved her again, “You have to act.”

“Control is always an option,” growled the Seeker. 

“Is that why you spend hours hitting straw dummies?” 

Cassandra’s glare grew, if possible, hotter, “Watch yourself.” 

“Why you took a swing at Varric-” a fist landed clean against Renley’s cheek. She stumbled back and placed her fingers on the spot. 

She regained her footing and looked through a cascade of falling petals. The Seeker’s face was contorted with rage. Renley lunged and tackled her to the ground. The fight that followed was sloppy, but there was meaning in every swing. Where words failed, fists came through loud and clear. 

After the initial flurry of knuckles and elbows, a grapple for dominance ensued. Renley quickly found herself eating dirt, and not long after the Seeker had her pinned on her back. With a handful of shirt and an evil look in her eye, Cassandra raised her fist. 

“Do it,” spat Renley, her eyes stinging from dust and sweat, “I don’t know how else to make it right.” 

Cassandra wrenched her forward by her shirt. Renley winced as her head left the ground, tensed for the final blow. But it didn’t come. Instead, she was shoved back to the dirt and the weight of the Seeker was gone. 

Blossoms floated down around her. Like snow in spring, they settled to the earth, a mosaic of pink and white, disturbed by their scuffle. She looked to her right. Cassandra sat within arm's reach, expression stony and jaw like a spring-loaded trap. 

“I need you,” Renley looked back to the canopy of flowering trees, her eyes tracing the soft blue outline of sky peeking through, “I don’t really know what else to say. Except,” she sat up with a grunt and fixed her gaze to her boots, “you’re really important to me.” 

A moment of silence followed. Renley half wished that they were still communicating through punches. 

Cassandra sighed and rose calmly to her feet. She extended a hand to Renley. They grasped forearms and the Seeker pulled her upright amidst a stir of dust and petals. 

“We’ve faced many perils together,” the Seeker studied her protégé. 

Renley thought she found a restrained sense of pride in Cassandra’s eyes. A sentiment she didn’t feel deserving of. Her response came as a promise. A declaration of her resolve to be better, “And there are still more to come.” 

Innocent laughter dissolved their moment. A small family of four drew near with a mule drawn cart. They stepped back and watched them pass. The children gawked shamelessly at the pair as the father tipped his hat. The cart creaked onward, drawing a path through the airy layer of fallen blossoms. 

“If you cannot divulge everything,” Cassandra continued as the sound of small voices grew faint, “at least promise me you will share the most important of it.” 

“I'll treat it the same as I do with Leliana. I’ll give you what I can, when I can. So long as you don’t ask me how came to know the information.” 

A peculiar gleam lit the Seeker’s eye. She considered Renley’s words for a beat, and relented with a hand on the others shoulder, “Come on then. Before they send after us.” 

They set off along the road through a tunnel of flowering trees. Renley rubbed her cheek as they walked. 

“It’s going to bruise,” observed Cassandra. 

“We can tell them we were ambushed by highway men. Twenty.” 

“It’s not believable.” 

“They only have our word,” Renley jested, “And if you back me up, they won’t question it.” 

“Varric will know right away.” 

Renley smiled, “Of that I’m certain.” 

After a peaceful half hour walk beneath blue skies and mild lake winds, they arrived in Crestwood. The village was full of life, much like the flourishing land around it. The floods had washed it clean, and beauty had grown in its wake. 

“Ah, Inquisitor,” a woman greeted them. Though her smile was welcoming her eyes were hard as stone. Her bronze hair was braided back with an intricacy that set Renley in mind of a war habit. There was an edge about this one, “I’m Cyra Hart, Crestwood’s mayor.” 

“Cyra,” Renley took a callused hand into her own, “You’ve received Dedrick?” 

“Yes, Your Worship. And I thank you,” Cyra stood tall and rested her hand on the dirk at her hip, “Many here are eager to see the Inquisitor unsheathe her blade.” 

Renley cleared her throat, “Is that so?” 

“Word has reached us of the justice you dealt the corruptor of the Wardens.” 

“I see.” 

“But I’m certain you’re weary from your travels. We’ve prepared a feast.” 

They followed Cyra further into the village. The path was fringed with wildflowers, the air sweet with lavender and basil. As they neared the village square, a mouthwatering aroma met their senses. It smelled of freshly baked bread, slow roasted pork and mulled wine. 

Just before the square, the Inquisition’s flag came into view flying high above Caer Bronach. 

“It’s a comfort to us,” stated Cyra, “Our people see the flag and know they are safe.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Renley replied. 

They stood around the edge of the festivities. The square was packed full. It seemed everyone had contributed in one way or another. Be it cooking, brewing, singing or dancing. 

“All this for a sentencing?” asked Renley. 

“Spring has always been a time of celebration for Crestwood,” Cyra grabbed two tankards from a passing maiden and handed them over to Renley and Cassandra, “But this season is different. It is a time for celebration, but it is a time for mourning as well. With our dead finally laid rest, it is all but time to honor their memory.” 

“I see,” Renley sipped from her tankard and cursed, “Jesus fuck that’s good.” 

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose as Cyra threw a curious glance Renley’s way. 

“Right,” Renley fixed her posture and surveyed the mingling crowd, “You haven’t seen our companions around?” 

“They came through earlier,” Cyra replied with a kind smile, “I’m sure you’ll find them somewhere among the festivities.” 

Cyra grabbed another tankard, “Enjoy your afternoon. Come evening, our trial begins,” she raised her drink then withdrew into the crowd. 

Renley sighed, “They want his head.” 

“You are the Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied, “Your word is law. They will accept your ruling.” 

Renley brought the tankard to her lips. The golden brew was incredibly compelling. The malted drink held bitter notes of caramel with a surprisingly sweet finish. 

It was then that she caught a glimpse of a roguishly handsome dwarf standing near the beer barrels. Varric was grinning ear to ear, his shoulders shaking with mirth. She narrowed her eyes and muttered a swear word to her tankard. An unfair thing to say to such a divine drink. She had brought it on herself, after all. 

*** 

The golden hour was upon them, and the crowd had shifted seamlessly from merry to bitter. They buzzed like a hive of bees. The slightest jostle would surely break them loose. 

Just beyond the village stood a great oak tree. Its branches started low and twisted into a sprawling canopy of crisp green foliage. Beneath its shade sat two wooden chairs and a rust-colored block of timber. 

Renley eyed the crowd with a hard brow and stomach full of worms. As she stood before the stump with Mayor Cyra, she strongly started to suspect that the odd discoloration of the wood was in fact blood. 

“People of Crestwood,” called Cyra, “The time for judgment is nigh.” 

The crowd stirred as Inquisition soldiers positioned Dedrick before them. Renley thought he looked thin. 

“This man,” Cyra pointed at Dedrick, “Comes before the Inquisition for crimes committed against those he had sworn to serve.” 

Jeers and hisses rang through the spectators. They quieted with a gesture from Cyra. 

“His fate is in the hands of the Inquisitor.” 

Cyra retreated to her seat, yielding the floor to Renley. Renley looked down at Dedrick with an ache in her chest. She could put it off no longer. 

“Would anyone speak on his behalf?” Renley asked of the people of Crestwood. 

The crowd fell silent. A breeze rustled through the branches of the mighty oak. The sun’s light grew weaker, tinting the clearing in a warm orange hue. 

“I will.” 

A young maiden pushed through the throng and tentatively went to Dedrick’s side. She politely curtsied, unperturbed by the cautious postures the soldiers had taken at her approach. 

“Your Worship,” the maiden straightened and eyed Renley nervously. 

“Please,” Renley offered an encouraging smile, “Say your piece.” 

“I am Isolde of Crestwood,” she began softly, “I’ve lived here my whole life. I had a home in Old Crestwood, the village destroyed by the flood,” her eyes flicked to Dedrick, “Gregory Dedrick was always a kind man. I never held him any ill will,” she looked down at her worn shoes, her hands rough from a life of labor clasped before her, “I remember, in the time of the endless rain, he would give us bread. Let us shelter in his home had we nowhere else to go.” 

Isolde looked up and into Renley’s eyes. A single tear streamed down her cheek. Her brow was trembling, wavering between fury and devastation, “But were it not for him, his ‘kindnesses’ wouldn’t have been necessary,” her voice grew stronger as she continued, “My entire family, my most cherished possessions... my Tristan. 

“I implore you Inquisitor,” her gaze bore into Renley’s with heartbreaking passion, “You cannot let this man live. We will only heal as a people once he is brought to justice.” 

The woman curtsied again, and withdrew into the crowd. Renley exhaled and looked to Dedrick. The man glared at her. 

“Does anyone else wish to speak?” she asked quietly. 

A wizened old man with white hair shuffled out of the crowd. And so, it continued. One after the other, villagers came forth and told their stories. Every last one of them was of loss and suffering. And every last one of them called for Dedrick’s head. 

Torches had been lit to make up for the dwindling light of day. Renley felt that she was standing before a blood thirsty mob. All they lacked was a pitchfork or two. 

“Dedrick,” Renley looked down on the kneeling man, “Have you anything to say in your defense?” 

He looked up with red eyes and glistening cheeks, “I did what I believed was right, Inquisitor. Please. Have mercy.” 

Never in her life did Renley imagine she would wield such power. Nor did she want to. To decide if someone should live or die under such circumstances... it felt barbaric. What was it about this man? She had been prepared to sacrifice Alistair. She had beheaded Erimond. Two polar opposites who would have met a similar fate. 

Between them sat Dedrick. Was condemning his actions like damning her own? 

“The people have spoken,” declared Renley, “Gregory Dedrick, I sentence you to death.” 

The color drained from his face. He sputtered as the soldiers drug him forward, nonsensical pleas for mercy. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A smattering of exclamations pierced the dull roar. 

Dedrick found his voice as Renley accepted a greatsword from Mayor Cyra. She placed the blade at the base of his neck. 

“You are weak,” his gaze, resolute in the face of death, bore into her very being, “I agonized over my decision. But I did it nonetheless. You will never know what it is to be a good leader, because you bend to the whim of those who don’t have the strength to do what a good leader should. Even when it shakes you to your very core.” 

Leaves of the great oak whispered in the wind. Renley’s grip tightened around the hilt of her blade. It sliced easily through skin and bone landing with a thud against the stump. Blood spilled forth and onto the wood. A fresh offering to the executioner's block. 

*** 

The celebration continued on after that, but Renley was far from cheerful. The villagers pressed drink and toasts on her, but at the first opportunity she found herself once again slipping away and into the night. 

She found a cliff just outside the village. The moon danced along the choppy surface of lake Calenhad. Its tide lapped lazily at sandy shores. She recalled the rift that had plagued Crestwood so many months ago. The Fade was capable of great destruction. 

Renley flexed her marked hand. She barely felt it anymore. Perhaps she’d grown used to the sensation. Still, a tool with such potential should bear more of a presence. She removed her glove and examined her palm. 

“You’ve been no use to me,” she chastised the anchor, “At least not when I’ve asked.” 

The anchor glowed weakly in response. 

“But then again,” Renley continued, “You are a part of me. Can’t blame the weapon when its wielder is incompetent.” 

She raised her hand to the lake, her feet flirting with the rocky plummet. Wind tousled her hair, bringing prickles to her skin. She closed her eyes and saw sun peeking through stone. Eyes like jars of honey staring fervidly back at her. 

“If I threw myself from this cliff would you tear a rift open for me?” she grumbled to the anchor. 

_I know you seek her when you dream. You won’t find her._

She let her arm fall and glared at the lake. Clouds crossed the moon, bathing her respite in shadow. 

“Your Grace,” a voice the quality of satin, its inflection dripping with danger made itself known. 

Renley turned and laid eyes on a pointed chin and full lips. She ripped her dagger from its sheath. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” clouds parted as the other spoke. Moonlight lit her features. The bard stepped forward hesitantly, eyeing the blade with concern. 

“Ezra,” breathed Renley. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her knuckles white on the hilt of her dagger, “Why are you here?” 

A falcon’s cry pierced the air. Ygritte soared down and landed nimbly on Renley’s shoulder. He clucked his beak irritably in the bard’s direction. 

“I only wished to check on you. Perhaps if you sheathed your blade,” she drew closer still, “we could speak?” 

Renley was one misstep away from toppling the precipice. Boulders and driftwood waited below, and a stranger stood before her. With piercing green eyes and honeyed words, she was a master huntsman, and she had cornered her prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have made it this far, I thank you. Writing this story has been gratifying, so I can only hope that if you're reading this note, you've found something redeeming in it as well. <3


	34. Among Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crewmate: There is one imposter among us...

Strong lake winds tousled Renley’s hair. They whipped about her knees and ankles making her all too aware of how close to the edge she was. A shiver rolled through her shoulders, and the bard drew closer still. 

There was something familiar about those piercing green eyes. Something that went beyond the ghost of Renley’s past. In her mind’s eye she saw a flash of skin in the flickering light of lantern. A wicked smirk, just visible beneath a shroud of shadow. 

“You wish to speak?” Renley shifted her feet. She raised her dagger as though it were a holy relic warding off demons. “Speak.” 

A spark of recognition had put Renley on the defensive, for she suspected that the stranger before her was an assassin. The envoy from the House of Repose that had attempted to barter for Dagna’s life. 

Something sinister flickered in Ezra’s eyes. “Surely, the dagger isn’t needed?” 

Uncertainty softened the grip on her blade. This wasn’t how the assassin’s guild operated. They were quick and clean. But a proper bard, an entertainer who traded in secrets and intrigue...that title fit well. 

“That day in Redcliffe.” Renley lowered her dagger but did not sheath it. “Our first meeting. What was the purpose of it?” 

Ezra smirked, “You intrigued me. And I you, if my memory serves me right.” 

If Ezra was in fact the mage from Sulcher’s Pass, she could have finished the job many times over by now. She was playing the game. To what end remained to be seen, but her motives fueled a burning curiosity in Renley. 

Perhaps this one didn’t thirst for blood. Perhaps she instead hungered for secrets. Ygritte took flight as Renley stowed her dagger. 

“There.” Ezra’s smile softened. “You seemed off at the celebration. But I didn’t expect you to be quite so on edge.” 

“Beheadings aren’t exactly cheerful.” 

Ezra came forward once more. Renley stepped back instinctively, still weary of the stranger. An unfortunate decision really, for her foot found air, and a horrible swooping sensation lurched at her abdomen. 

*** 

In the village square, the festivities showed no signs of stopping. The ale flowed freely, the supply of which seemed endless. The merriment turned raucous under its influence. 

Cassandra navigated the crowd, eyes peeled for a sign of the Inquisitor. Endless faces weaved through the commons, lit by the colorful glow of paper lanterns strung over the square. 

“Seeker!” 

Her eyes fell on Varric, piss drunk in the corner with Dorian. The stench of stale liquor overwhelmed her senses as she approached the pair. 

“Varric.” She looked down her nose at the dwarf. “Have you seen the Inquisitor?” 

“You work too hard,” Varric continued. He lounged on a barrel with a lopsided grin fixed on his features. “Have a drink with us!” 

Dorian if anything seemed worse off than Varric. His voice was thick with inebriation, his carefully tailored mustache fraying on one side. “Yes. Drinks. The golden one is absolutely a drink.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes and turned back to the crowd. She collided with a sturdy frame. A tankard of ale splashed onto her breast plate, soaking the fabric beneath it. 

The drink clattered to the ground and Cassandra looked up to find Mayor Hart, grimacing at her blunder. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s no matter.” Cassandra spread her arms and flung the golden liquid from her fingers. “Have you spoken with the Inquisitor?” 

“Not for some time.” Cyra bent down and retrieved the tankard. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes.” She brushed rudely past the mayor and made her way once more into the throng. She found another familiar pair on the opposite side of the festivities. Harding and Dagna were in the midst of a discussion. These two at least seemed sober. 

“Have you seen the Inquisitor?” 

Harding looked up at her. “No. I haven’t.” 

“Perhaps she went back to Caer Bronach?” A voice spoke at Cassandra’s shoulder. She glanced at the speaker and found Mayor Hart, regarding the three with interest. 

A portly man with greasy curls turned to their party. “The Inquisitor?” He swallowed a belch and jerked his thumb behind him. “Saw her heading east earlier. Must’ve been an hour ago.” 

“East?” Cyra cut her gaze at the man. “Like to the Caer?” 

“No. Directly east.” 

Cyra looked gravely to Cassandra. “We must retrieve her. The Fen’s are perilous even by light of day.” 

Cassandra and Harding exchanged terse looks before setting off in the direction the man had indicated. Dagna and Cyra followed close behind. 

“I get the sense this is a common occurrence?” 

Cassandra glanced back at Cyra. “You may stay here, Mayor Hart.” 

“Hang on.” Cyra grabbed Cassandra by the arm earning a cross look from the Seeker. “I know this land better than anyone. And I can hold my own with a blade.” 

They eyed each other for a tense moment. Mayor Hart certainly held a formidable presence. Cassandra got the sense that the blade at her side was for more than show. 

“Very well,” she relented. She shook her arm from Cyra’s grasp and turned back to the path. 

The noise from the crowd died quickly, replaced by the whistle of lake winds past their ears. Thin whisps of clouds danced with the stars, casting shadows over their journey. 

“These conditions are not good for tracking,” Harding observed. 

“There aren’t many places this side of the village that I’d imagine she’d go,” stated Cyra. 

“Any local gangs or highway men?” asked Harding. 

“No,” replied Cyra. “Your people cleared them out mostly. There’s just one threat they haven’t set their sights to yet.” 

“What threat is that?” asked Cassandra. 

“The High Dragon.” The mayor ran face first into the Seeker's back. 

Cassandra didn’t so much as budge. “A High Dragon?” 

“Oh!” The eager voice of the arcanist spoke from behind, “I wonder how it differs from the Abyssal High Dragon? We may receive an opportunity to observe its hunting patterns.” 

Harding pinched her nose. “No doubt it’ll be circling the Inquisitor.” 

“Take us to it.” Cassandra rounded on the mayor who was rubbing her shoulder as though she’d just run down a brick wall. 

Cyra huffed. “Look, I appreciate-” 

“I understand if you do not wish to accompany us.” Cyra quieted under the determined glare of the Seeker. “We need only for you to point us in the appropriate direction.” 

“We should at the very least grab a few more able bodies.” 

“If the Inquisitor’s past predicaments are any indication,” began Harding, “we have no time to waste.” 

Cyra eyed the party with exasperation. She shook her head and grasped the hilt of her blade. “I’m with you then.” 

They hurried along the darkened path with Mayor Hart’s guidance. Cassandra was glued to her side, the two dwarfs doing their best to keep pace. 

The road cut down and through a grassy plain. It was clear of bandits, just as Cyra had promised, but larger threats loomed. If they made it out in one piece…if _Renley_ made it out in one piece, Cassandra resolved to not pull her punches on the confrontation that was sure to follow. 

*** 

“Varric?” Dorian gazed at the mingling crowd with glassy eyes. 

Varric looked over to his mustachioed companion. His vision took a moment to catch up with his eyes. “Yeah, Sparkler?” 

“I think that-” a rather painful sounding hiccup “-the guys at the Caer would really love this ale.” 

“Yeah.” Varric nodded sanctimoniously. “You know? Everyone should enjoy this ale.” He hopped off his barrel and clapped a hand to its side. “Help me with this will you?” 

A wild look lit Dorian’s eye. “You genius. A barrel of gold and a game of Wicked Grace. That’s what I always say.” 

“We’ll-” Varric dropped his tankard and pulled at the barrel “-We’re the heroes in this tale. Ale for all!” 

“And all for ale!” 

*** 

Cassandra and Cyra crawled along a small hill on their stomachs. Across a field sat a ruin. The pair paused at the crest of the incline and studied the horizon. 

“Do you see anything?” whispered Cyra. 

Cassandra shushed her. 

“Me? You’re shushing me? When your arcanist has made a clamor that can be heard two towns over?” 

“Dragons have exceptionally sharp senses.” She eyed the other shrewdly. “And Dagna can handle herself.” 

Cyra returned her look with interest. “And you don’t think I can handle myself?” 

Cassandra gave her a once over. “That remains to be seen.” 

“Strictly business, are you?” Cyra raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing around the corner of her mouth. 

“Yes.” Her brows came together in annoyance, but something about the mayor’s gaze brought warmth to her cheeks. She looked back to the horizon. 

Clouds parted shedding light on the ruin. A lone figure stood at its base. 

“There.” Cassandra stood and started forward. 

“Wait!” the Mayor hissed. But the Seeker did not wait. She barged through tufts of thistle and nettle with Cyra clambering after her. 

An echoing shriek rent the air as they neared the field’s middle. A behemoth shadow swooped down and landed before them, shaking the ground at their feet. The beast towered over with smoldering embers for eyes and scales like the deepest depths of the ocean. 

“Andraste guide us,” breathed Cyra. 

“She’s a Northern Hunter.” Cassandra drew her sword. “Watch for the tail.” 

The dragon turned. Scales fractured at the base of its spine, forming jagged shards that grew sharper further down its body. It culminated at the base of the dragon’s tail. A splintering death trap of obsidian spike. 

The thorny mass came toward them with alarming speed. They ducked last minute and found their footing to a jaw full of lightning bearing down on them. 

An arrow pierced the dragon’s eye. It let out an ear-splitting cry and turned its attention to the bow’s wielder. Harding stood at the edge of the field, loosing arrows as quick as her bow could release them. 

Cassandra rushed forward and struck the beast’s hindleg. Cyra rushed its front and for a moment it thrashed, unsure of which fly to swat first. 

It took flight with a great flap of its wings. 

“To me!” Cassandra called to Cyra. They ran for the ruins and the dragon followed. It stalked them from the air, growing larger with each earth quaking fold of its wings, its mouth filled with sparks and crackles. 

“Get down!” A small voice yelled to them. 

The pair looked up to see Dagna, standing atop the ruin with a jar of flame in her hand. Cassandra stared unblinking at the image, before being yanked to the ground by Cyra. She peeked past the other’s arm to see the dragon swallow a small projectile of flame. 

An explosion followed, so great it was like the sun had fallen to Thedas. Cassandra shielded her eyes as arms tightened around her. A shower of stone and rubble fell around them as the Northern Hunter crashed into the ruin. 

*** 

Varric and Dorian heaved the barrel on its side. They rolled it through the square, pausing now and then to wheeze through their laughter. 

“Pardon me, madame.” Dorian waggled his eyebrows at a young maiden who fell into titters. 

A rather large man turned to the unfolding interaction to glare at Dorian. “That’s milady you’re talking to.” 

He straightened and looked up, meeting the man’s glower with a bravado like only Dorian could. “And now I’m talking to a troll. What an unfortunate turn of events.” 

The troll reared back and decked Dorian, lifting him clean off his feet and onto his back. The crowd parted, gasping and gawking, as he fell among them. 

Varric rushed forward and punched the troll in the only spot he could reach. The man howled and clasped his hands to his crotch. He keeled over, purple in the face and elsewhere if his whimpers were any indication. 

Dorian stumbled to his feet. “Go! Go!” 

He and Varric pushed the ale down the path toward the Caer. They ran after the careening barrel, the sound of their maniacal laughter piercing the silence that had fallen in their wake. 

*** 

Cassandra coughed as the earth settled. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the dirt and rubble that had befallen them. She squinted past swirls of dust to a thin sliver of sky. They were entombed in stone. 

A body shifted atop her. “Are you alright?” Cyra’s voice was strained at her ear. 

Cassandra coughed again, feeling as though she’d inhaled the ruin itself. “Yes. But I’d like to get up now.” 

“Would if I could,” muttered Cyra. Her arms were shaking on either side of the Seeker. “I’m afraid we’re stuck for the moment.” 

“I’ll help you.” Cassandra snaked her arms around Cyra and placed them on the stone above. She pushed with all her might. The rubble shifted ominously around them. 

A hint of panic sharpened the mayor’s tone. “Well maybe don’t do that.” 

A tense silence fell between them as the stone settled. Cyra’s arms trembled on either side of Cassandra. 

“Relax, Mayor Hart. We may be here for a while yet.” 

Cyra eased herself down onto the Seeker, awkwardly trying to find an appropriate position to lay in. Their area was restricted in such a way that the only solution was close or closer. They settled for close, their legs entangled and Cyra’s chin resting on Cassandra’s shoulder. 

“So...” The Mayor’s voice was muffled in the Seeker’s arm. “The arcanist can take care of herself.” 

“Yes,” sighed Cassandra. “Yes, she can.” 

*** 

An odd noise escaped Renley’s throat. She felt as though she’d missed the last step on a flight of stairs. Only worse. Much worse. Her arms flailed before her, trying to compensate for her misstep. 

A hand grabbed her wrist. Another grasped her collar and pulled her to a proper footing. Renley froze as she came to terms with the ground beneath her feet. 

Ezra spoke softly at her ear, her hand still entangled in Renley’s shirt. “On edge in more ways than one, eh?” 

Renley released her breath. “I almost died.” 

They chuckled nervously for a moment. A soft breeze tousled Renley’s hair. 

“Cassandra would kill me if I die.” 

Ezra smirked, “Is she the source of your nerves? The reason you’d unsheathe your blade at the approach of an innocent bard?” 

“An innocent bard?” Renley raised her eyebrows. “Is that not a contradiction?” 

“You wound me.” She took the jab with good humor. “I am but a humble entertainer, searching for a story to tell.” 

There was something in Ezra’s voice. Poison disguised with honey. Perhaps Renley’s nerves were just getting the better of her, but she couldn’t afford to take that chance. 

“We should return to the village.” 

Ezra fixed her with a look that brought prickles to Renley’s skin. “We are alone here, Your Grace. We needn’t hurry.” 

She froze as Ezra’s fingers brushed the hair from her eyes. The adrenaline of the near fall faded, and her fear of the threat before her returned in full force. 

Reney pulled away, minding the cliff’s edge. “I should check on my companions.” 

“As you say.” 

They walked along the rocky cliff face and returned to the village square. Only the drunkest of Crestwood’s citizens remained. A few of their number would surely be there until the sun’s greeting. Her companions were not among them. 

“I suppose they retired to the Caer,” Renley mused as they took in the mingling crowd. 

They started the path down. The clouds had cleared revealing an onyx sky salted with stars. The earth was easy underfoot, the lake winds milder than before. And Renley walked shoulder to shoulder with the stranger. 

She smiled wryly at the notion. Of all the predicaments she’d found herself in, this was perhaps the stupidest. 

*** 

“Seeker?” A voice echoed through their tomb. 

Cassandra craned her neck and called through a small opening near her brow. “Scout Harding.” 

“Don’t move. Dagna and I are working on getting you out.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” questioned Cyra. “You could go to the Caer. Round up some of your people?” 

Dagna made an attempt to ease their worry. “With the right angles and a little leverage, the probability of getting you out with all of your extremities intact is high.” 

Cassandra groaned. 

“Well, that’s comforting,” murmured Cyra. 

The sound of shifting rock and grunts followed. 

“I’m going to need a drink after this.” Cyra positioned her chin on Cassandra's arm. 

“Undoubtedly.” Cassandra looked to the shard of sky above them. With the dust settled, the smell of worn leather and the mild scent of ale took over her senses. It was a comforting combination. 

“So, you’re familiar with dragons?” Cyra asked of her. 

“I’ve had my run-ins.” The Seeker wasn’t of a mind to delve into the depths of her past with a stranger. Close they may be, but personal they were not. 

“Perhaps we could get that drink together, and you could tell me about one of your run-ins.” 

She looked down to find Cyra eyeing her. Her dark eyes held a curiosity, and for a moment too long Cassandra looked back, intrigued by the other’s gaze. 

A faint light bathed their respite. Cassandra craned her neck and saw the face of Harding through a small opening. 

Mayor Hart clambered out first, one of her boots digging painfully into Cassandra’s shoulder, then reached back to help pull her out. She wriggled out of the opening and took a deep breath of cool night air. 

She accepted a hand from the mayor and found her footing. She looked to Cyra with the intention of thanking her, but found that they were much closer than expected. 

So close, in fact, that she could see the intricate braiding of Cyra’s golden hair. And the faintest of lines at the corners of slate grey eyes. The corner of Cyra's mouth twitched. Being close in the open felt much different than their previous entanglement. 

Cassandra cleared her throat and stepped back, turning her attention to the ruin reduced to rubble. The mangled corpse of the Northern Hunter sat atop it. 

“Did anyone see the Inquisitor?” 

“Wasn’t here as far as I could tell.” Harding’s eyes were fixed on the destruction. Almost as though she were averting her gaze from a moment of intimacy. 

Cassandra’s face grew warm. 

“What of the figure we saw?” questioned Cyra. 

“That was me.” The party looked around at Dagna. “There was no sign of the Inquisitor from my vantage.” 

Cassandra marched away from the group and they followed. Her thoughts teetered between fluster and fury. Renley weighed on one side, Mayor Hart on the other. 

*** 

Cyra’s thoughts roamed as they walked. The Inquisition was certainly not what she had expected. Useful but unconventional. That’s how she’d describe them. Nothing like the lords and ladies she'd anticipated. 

Then of course there was the Seeker. Another welcome surprise. 

Her musings were interrupted by two figures drawing near, silhouetted by the Caer’s looming shadow. They paused as they neared the portcullis. 

“Ah.” Cyra smiled in recognition as they neared the shapes. “Is that your-” she grunted as a body pushed past her shoulder. 

The Seeker marched up to the figures, each step scorching the earth beneath her boots. 

The Inquisitor planted her feet and held her hands out before her. “Take it easy.” 

Cassandra grabbed a handful of her coat and pulled her toward the gates. 

“Hey!” The Inquisitor dug her heels in and pushed at Cassandra’s shoulder. Not long after they were a blur of arms and legs. 

Cyra stepped forward, concern notching her brow. 

“I wouldn’t get involved Mayor Hart.” Harding placed a hand of caution on her arm. “It’s best to just let them work through it.” 

The other figure approached the party with a sheepish smile. “Hello all.” Her voice was pleasing to the ear. Her emerald gaze soft and charming. 

“You’re with the Inquisition?” Cyra made an effort to return her courtesies, but her attention was torn by the bizarre scuffle unfolding before them. 

“No, actually. I’m Ezra.” She held a hand out and Cyra took it briefly. “The Inquisition was kind enough to show me passage to Crestwood by way of Redcliffe.” 

“Really?” Cyra took in the lady with renewed interest. “Why Crestwood?” 

“It’s a lovely town Mayor Hart.” Piercing green eyes bore into her own. The lady presented herself as meek and mild, but those eyes were deadly. “Truth be told, I’m here for the stories. I’m a bard you see.” 

“Oh?” Cyra’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Of the Ferelden sort.” Ezra’s smile widened, not quite reaching her eyes. “I entertain for nobleman and commoners alike.” 

“I see.” Cyra gave the bard a once over. “And what will you do, now that you’ve reached your destination?” 

“Well, that depends. I would be loath to part with such fascinating company-” her eyes flicked to the pair now shouting indiscernible nonsense at one another “-if they would have me. I think I could do their exploits justice. Write songs that many will sing for years to come.” 

Ezra looked down at Scout Harding with warmth in her eyes. Cyra watched as the bard’s gaze then turned on Dagna. It was the briefest exchange, but it chilled Cyra to the bone. There was hunger in the bard’s eyes. Like a witch of the woods, preying upon an innocent. 

A crash startled the party. A barrel landed among them. It busted on impact and drenched them all in ale. 

They looked up to the sound of laughter. The Inquisitor stumbled to her feet, shaking ale from her sleeves. She eyed the laughing figures. “Varric? Dorian?” 

Cassandra went to her side and scowled at the pair. “You could have injured us!” 

“Sorry, Seeker.” Varric hung an arm over the baluster. “We just kind of...lost control of it.” He dropped a tankard at their feet, splashing them again with drink. “Oops!” 

Dorian disappeared over the edge, the howls of his laughter echoing through the night. 

*** 

Sometime later, the party sat around a glowing brazier. Dagna and Harding recounted their battle as Ezra strummed a soft tune on her lute. 

Ygritte landed nimbly on Renley’s knee. A plan took form in her mind as she eyed the falcon. “Waiting on report, are you?” 

The bird hopped to her arm and she stood. She was intercepted by Mayor Hart who had a bottle under her arm and two fists full of tankards. “Your Worship. Fancy a drink?” 

“I think I’m done for the night. Thank you, mayor.” She looked around at the party, her eyes lingering on Ezra. She gave her an inviting look, hoping to convey an invitation. “Sleep well everyone.” 

Renley withdrew to the requisition table and scrawled a hasty note to her Spymaster. 

_We have a_ _new face in our party. I believe she would follow us back with hopes of fulfilling her contract._ _I will lead her to you,_ _with your approval._ _Doubtless you have_ _questions for the_ _bard._

She carried Ygritte to the baluster. “Get to Leliana. Only Leliana. At all cost.” He took flight. She watched until his form grew small and disappeared among the stars. 

Her stomach churned as she set her feet for her quarters. Ezra leaned in the shadow of the doorway. “I’m not sure your gaze could have been any less pointed.” 

Renley fixed her features. “Subtlety isn’t my strong suit.” 

“I’ve noticed.” 

Her skin crawled. Perhaps it would have been smarter to bind the bard and march her to Skyhold in chains. Then again, a lot could happen on the journey home. 

Renley stepped into the shadows. Her eyes adjusted slowly, seeing first the cut of Ezra’s jaw, framed by red curls darkened with night. Then a glimpse of emerald, shining like jewels in starlight. 

As she brushed a lock of hair from Ezra’s cheek, a thought occurred to her. What if she was wrong? 

She drew back the curl with the intention of tucking it behind an ear. A hand encircled her wrist, halting her progress. The bard fixed her with an alluring stare and kissed the hollow of Renley’s wrist. Flutters filled her midriff. 

They crossed the threshold and were greeted by a bowl of embers casting a warm orange glow throughout the chamber. Ezra's fingers worked at the fastenings of Renley’s jerkin. She slid the leather from her shoulders and allowed the bard to pull her to bed. 

A phrase came to mind, about friends and enemies. An age-old adage from a legendary military strategist. She attempted to recall the words, with what little wits she possessed melting away under the influence of a more learned player of the game. 

What was it again? Fight your friends and take your enemies to bed? 


	35. A Tale of Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you can spot the Skyrim easter egg.

Scout Harding sensed a presence near her bedroll. She kept her eyes closed, her breathing slow, and she listened. 

Whoever lurked was sorely lacking in stealth. Harding could hear the creak of leather as they moved through the room, the cracking of joints as they crouched at her side, the softest swish of linen as they reached toward her shoulder. 

Harding had been prepared for this. Had been expecting it even. Her grip was sure on the hilt of her blade, the steel sharpened to a razors edge, ready and willing to mingle red and silver. With one fluid movement, she ripped away her blankets and placed the point of her knife at the other’s ribs. 

“Wait!” hissed the lurker. 

The voice gave her pause. “Inquisitor?” 

Renley came into focus as Harding’s eyes adjusted to the dark. Disheveled hair fell in waves around her tired features. Her linen shirt favored one shoulder, possibly due to the poor job she’d done of tucking it into her trousers. 

“I need you to grab Dagna and meet me by the portcullis.” 

Harding blinked at her. “What time is it?” 

“Late.” The Inquisitor shifted her weight and adjusted the dagger at her hip. “Or early. I don’t know.” 

They eyed each other for a moment. Harding wondered if perhaps she was dreaming. Or more likely still, the Inquisitor had finally lost it. 

Renley cleared her throat. Her eyes flicked to the knife still poking at her ribs. 

“Oh! Right.” Harding removed the blade and propped herself up on an elbow. 

The Inquisitor tilted her chin to the small figure in the corner of the chamber. “Dagna’s a hard sleeper.” 

She looked over at the arcanist. The gentle rise and fall of her silhouette were nearly enough to lull Harding to sleep, tired as she was. 

“Wake her.” Renley stood from her crouch. “Meet me at the gates as soon as you can.” 

*** 

Stars were fading in an inky sky. The few that remained shimmered through a haze of cloud, illuminating the morning dew that glistened through the meadows. 

Renley stood at the portcullis with two mounts, both saddled and loaded with supplies fit for a journey. Harding approached with Dagna in tow. 

Harding stifled a yawn, “Inquisitor.” 

“Walk with me a moment?” The two walked a short way from the Caer. Birds chirped, heralding the morning hours. Renley turned to Harding just beyond the reach of the torchlight. “I need you and Dagna to ride for Skyhold.” 

Harding’s forehead crumpled. “What’s happened?” 

“I think our bard companion is more than she’s letting on.” 

“Of course, she is.” 

The air whooshed from Renley as though she’d been punched in the gut. “What’s that now?” 

“First off-” Harding folded her arms and raised a brow at Renley “-she’s a _bard_.” 

“Right.” Renley considered her logic. The effort of untangling the tired jumble that was her mind brought a crease to her brow. “Why didn’t you share your concerns with me?” 

“Well, I didn’t assume you’d be giving away the Inquisition’s secrets.” The scout’s expression softened. “But after this morning I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have been keeping an eye on you as well.” 

Renley chuckled dryly. “I’m not worried about our secrets, Scout Harding. I’m worried about Dagna.” 

She watched as realization widened Harding’s eyes. “Oh.” She glanced at Dagna. “You think...?” 

“I _suspect_ that Ezra has motivations for being near us. What, or who, is the reason for that motivation is beyond me.” Renley exhaled and rolled her neck. “I’ve sent a message to our Spymaster. In the meantime, you and Dagna will return to Skyhold.” 

The sky was paling. An orange hue crept along its clouds bringing morning ever closer. 

“She will follow one of us.” Renley looked down at Harding. “I’ll do my best to make sure it’s me.” 

Soldiers were starting to stir in the Caer. The sound of pots and pans carried over the baluster as sleepy greetings were called to the night guards. 

“Go.” Renley gestured to their ponies. “Be quick and don’t speak with anyone who isn’t an advisor.” 

A feeling of guilt prodded at Renley’s stomach as the scout neared the portcullis. “Harding.” 

Harding paused at her pony’s side. 

“Be safe.” 

“You too, Inquisitor.” 

Harding and Dagna retreated from the rising sun. A thin strip of pink lined the horizon at their back. A low fog rolled in from the lake at their front. Renley’s heart swelled as she watched them go. The two of them, she thought, were worth a story of their own. 

*** 

Renley returned to the main bailey. The soldiers paid her no mind as she shuffled through the square and sat heavily at the remnants of a campfire. A breeze blew smoke into her eyes. She allowed it, too exhausted to switch seats. 

Ezra had kept her attention throughout the night. Even after the bard had closed her eyes, Renley’s remained open. Her’s was an exhaustion born of paranoia, and she had stewed on it. The tension in her jaw alone was enough to keep her awake. 

At one point she had sat frozen, muscles tensed on the cusp of action, silently willing herself to bind the bard and send her to Skyhold in chains, when finally, an idea occurred to her. 

With her plan set in motion, and Dagna and Harding on their way to safety, she felt a sense of ease. If any further incident came of the bard’s presence, it wouldn’t involve the arcanist, and Renley took great comfort in that. 

The smoke enveloped her and still, she did not move. 

“What are you doing?” 

Renley turned bleary eyes to the voice. “I don’t rightly know.” 

“Well, how about some coffee with your smoke bath?” Mayor Hart held a tankard out. “We have it imported from Antiva.” 

“Wow.” The breeze shifted as she accepted the drink, taking with it the smoke. “Must cost you an arm and a leg.” 

“Not really.” Mayor Hart took the seat next to Renley’s and eyed her. “I know a merchant in Kirkwall. He sets aside a few bags for us with each shipment.” 

Renley sipped from her tankard. “Thank him for me. This is incredible.” 

“And you look like you need it.” 

“Say...” Renley returned Cyra’s scrutiny. “What are you doing at the Caer this time of morning?” 

The Mayor, to Renley’s delight, reddened. “Well, I-” 

“And in yesterday’s clothes no less.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

It took great effort for Renley to keep her jaw from hitting the ground. “Mayor Hart, I am astonished that you’d make such accusations.” 

“You jest.” Cyra smiled ruefully. “I like your organization Inquisitor, but there is one who gives me pause.” 

Mayor Hart fixed Renley with a serious look. “The bard.” 

Renley grinned. “You’re a perceptive one.” 

“You have your suspicions?” 

She studied the mayor. “The Inquisition could use people like you. If ever you decide that governing isn’t your thing.” 

A flash of light caught Renley’s eye. She followed the source to see the hilt of a blade reflecting the rising sun from the Seeker’s hip. Cassandra’s eyes swept over the pair at the fire. Renley tilted her chin in greeting, only to face rejection as the Seeker hurried away to the opposite side of the Caer. 

“Still upset I suppose,” Renley mumbled into her drink. 

Cyra took a long draught from her tankard, her far off gaze lingering where Cassandra had been. 

*** 

The Storm Coast was a half days ride from Crestwood, and Mayor Hart had been kind enough to lend the Inquisition an extra horse. Ezra and Renley rode side by side, followed by Varric and Dorrian. Cassandra brought up the rear. 

The dynamic of the party was surprisingly pleasant. Their bard strummed a tune on her lute, trying to capture the battle of the Northern Hunter in song. Varric and Dorrian’s inebriation had carried over from the night before. Their giggles and nonsensical jokes had Renley grinning from ear to ear. 

Even Cassandra seemed in good spirits. Her mood seemed impenetrable, her expression dreamy, her posture loose. 

Ygritte landed on Renley’s shoulder. “There you are.” She took a roll of parchment from his leg. 

_Lead her here at your discretion. We will be waiting._

“Your Grace.” 

Renley looked to Ezra. 

“Might I inquire why we are two less than when we started?” 

“I sent Harding to scout ahead.” 

“I see. You place great trust in her.” 

“She has shown her worth a hundred times over.” Renley folded the parchment and held it over her head. “Dorian. Burn this for me, will you?”

The parchment disintegrated in a flash, gone before Renley could blink. “That was cute.”

“Of course, it was. This is me we’re talking about, after all.” 

A briny scent filled the air as they neared the coast. They pulled their mounts short of a rocky overlook. The Storm Coast was miles of dreary seascape, complete with choppy waves and a fine drizzle. A group of mercenaries were finishing a battle on the shore below. 

“Should we intervene?” Cassandra scanned the coast, her brow a hard line. 

“Let it play out.” Renley breathed in the salt air. Tumultuous waves crashed along the rocky shore, the sound pierced by the clamor of weapon on shield. 

They watched as the mercenaries fought with what appeared to be Venatori. Renley studied the skirmish and was quickly able to spot a towering individual swinging a warhammer with deadly force. 

Her eyes then fell on Krem, dancing through the skirmish with an axe in each hand. His fighting was impressive. Where Bull was a tornado of destruction, Krem was like lightning, striking down foes with speed and precision. 

As the last of the Venatori fell, Renley pulled at the reins of her horse and steered them down to shore. Her boots hit damp sand as she dismounted. Ocean spray mingled with the precipitation, drenching them to their small clothes. 

The booming voice of the Iron Bull addressed his lieutenant, “Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” 

“Perhaps you should leave the casks intact for now.” Renley smiled as she approached Krem. 

Krem returned her smile and accepted a handshake. “You won’t want to come between the chief and his drink, Inquisitor.” 

“Do as you will, but I have a feeling you’ll be packing up soon.” 

Renley smirked at the mercenary's politely puzzled expression. She turned and laid eyes on the largest individual she’d ever seen in person. 

“Inquisitor,” Bull greeted her. “Glad you made it. Have a seat. Drinks are coming.” 

She sat with the Iron Bull on makeshift seats of driftwood. Renley shook her dampened hair from her eyes. 

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive but we’re worth it.” He smirked down at Renley. “And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.” 

“No doubt.” Renley’s attention strayed to her companions. 

Varric and Dorian were mingling around the cask, its contents, though undoubtedly of the alcoholic variety, were unknown. Cassandra stood with Ezra, looking out over the waves, a dreamy expression still fixed to her features. 

Though Ezra appeared engaged in their conversation, Cassandra, it seemed, hardly noticed the other’s presence. 

“There’s one other thing you should know. Might be useful. Might piss you off.” 

Renley returned her attention to Bull. 

“Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?” 

“Spies.” Renley smirked. “I’m guessing you’re one of them?” 

“I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening.” 

“Aren’t spies supposed to be a bit more subtle?” 

“Does anything about me look subtle to you?” 

Renley chuckled. “Fair point.” 

“I get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.” 

“So, we get the latest gossip on Orlesian high society?” 

“It's a bit of everything. Alone they’re not much, but if your Spymaster’s worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.” 

“She?” 

It was Bull’s turn to chuckle, “I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for red heads.” 

Something reared its head in Renley’s chest. She cut her gaze at Bull. 

“Ah.” He looked down at her with a knowing smile. “The Inquisitor and the Spymaster. Nice.” 

Warmth seared Renley’s cheeks. “No, that’s not-” 

“Yeah, right. Last time I saw that look was when Skinner stole Rocky’s sweet roll.” 

“Is that a euphemism?” 

“Surprisingly, no.” 

The rain came down in sheets, cool and brackish as though the sea itself was trickling from the sky. Renley clapped her hands to her knees and stood. She extended a welcoming hand to her newest companion. “Welcome to the Inquisition.” 

Her hand all but disappeared as the Iron Bull took it in his own. He towered over as he stood, his bulging muscles glistening. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” 

*** 

The frost back mountain range loomed ever closer on the horizon. The Chargers made for entertaining company. The array of personalities in their party created a controlled chaos. They worked seamlessly together, though one would never guess as much at first glance. 

“Hey, chief!” Rocky called from the back of the party. “When do _we_ get mounts? My legs are seizing.” 

“Your legs are fine,” Bull replied dryly. 

“Dwarves aren’t made for treks like this. And Grim keeps fumbling the cask.” 

Grim grunted in response. 

“Enough whining,” grumbled Bull. “We’re almost there.” 

Renley looked over to Cassandra. “A word?” 

They spurred their mounts forward and out of earshot of the others. “I say we ride ahead.” 

Cassandra creased her brow. “For what purpose?” 

“When we arrive in Skyhold,” Renley continued in a low voice, “Our bard will be taken into custody. I’d prefer not to have too many new faces confusing our soldiers. You, me, and Ezra will ride ahead under the guise of sending carts back to the mercenaries.” 

The Seeker’s expression darkened to one that Renley was all too familiar with. “Why is she not in chains?” 

“I’ve a plan.” Renley eyed the Seeker. “And it involves you.” 

*** 

The lift creaked as it drew upward. Renley shivered in the chilly mountain air, eager for the respite of Skyhold’s milder climate. Cassandra and Ezra stood on either side of her. 

The platform shuttered to a stop and they stepped out and into a sunny courtyard. Skyhold’s patrons took advantage of the weather, mingling throughout the square. The three navigated the crowd, stopping just short of the great hall’s entrance. 

Sunlight danced in Ezra’s curls as she eyed the castle. “So.” She turned to Renley and fixed with her an alluring gaze. “This is the famed Skyhold?” 

Renley looked over Ezra’s shoulder. The Spymaster approached, dressed simply in dark leather and her signature cloak. Her every step was made with lethal intent. 

Ezra was practiced at the game, but she was no match for the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. 

One question still burned in Renley’s mind. “Who are you really?” 

A shadow flickered through Ezra’s features. “Your Grace?” 

“Did you really believe I’d let a perfect stranger follow me to the Inquisition’s headquarters?” 

Cassandra drew her sword. She pierced the ground and a force rippled from the point of impact, stirring the dust at their feet and taking with it any chance for magical intervention. Ezra’s demeanor changed instantly, her stance widened, her expression guarded. 

Leliana closed the distance and grabbed Ezra’s arm, twisting it behind her back. Soldiers rushed forward and took over. Ezra struggled weakly against their hold as they bound her wrists. 

“What’s happening?” Her piercing gaze bore into Renley’s, wide and fearful. “Tell them to unhand me!” 

“Take her to the dungeons.” Renley looked coldly at the soldiers. “Be sure she’s guarded at all hours.” 

Fear turned to anger in the bard's eyes. The soldiers jerked her forward and marched her away. The square, having fallen silent at the exchange, slowly returned to its activity. 

Cassandra found her way to Renley’s side. “You should have told me we were harboring an apostate.” 

“I did tell you.” 

“Yes,” she sighed. “Perhaps sooner next time?” 

Renley smirked. “Training tomorrow?” 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her. “See you at dawn.” She withdrew to the training grounds. 

Across the courtyard, the lift brought up Skyhold’s newest tenants. The Iron Bull and his Chargers stepped into the bustle and immediately began to make themselves at home. 

“I think explanations are in order.” 

Renley touched eyes with her Spymaster. “Why? Is something off?” 

*** 

The pair found themselves in the Inquisitor’s quarters. A more comfortable setting than the Spymaster’s ravenry. Leliana found that she looked forward to hearing Renley’s tales, though at times they stirred in her an envy that she suspected was born of nostalgia. 

The Inquisitor had removed her top layers, leaving a linen shirt tucked neatly into her trousers. The texture of her hair was off, wavier than usual, perhaps due to a lack of care or the effects of the sea climate. She sat heavily on the couch and turned tired eyes to Leliana. 

“Where should we start?” Renley tucked a leg beneath her and rested her arm along the seat back. 

A comfortable breeze sifted in from the balcony, ruffling the fabric of Leliana’s collar. She unfastened her shroud and pulled it from her shoulders. “From the beginning.” 

She poured two drinks as the Inquisitor began her tale. Renley stumbled through the details, her eyes cloudy, likely from exhaustion. Leliana listened in silence, until one detail piqued her interest. 

“You slept with the bard?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Renley smiled incredulously. “Half of my party nearly dies and that’s the detail you focus on?” 

Leliana smirked. Teasing Renley had indeed become one of her favorite pastimes. “It’s not very becoming of the Inquisitor, to be seduced by a spy.” 

Renley chuckled into her glass. “Happens to the best of us.” 

“It’s never happened to me.” 

“That’s because you _are_ the spy.” 

Leliana eyed the other’s crooked grin with growing amusement. “Go on then.” 

She moved closer to refill Renley’s glass, not that the Inquisitor’s tongue ever needed loosening, but it did add an entertaining flourish to her tales. After one very detailed recounting of the Seeker’s wrath at Leliana’s insistence, and two more glasses of brown liquor, the story met its end. 

“So.” Leliana held her glass at eye level, gazing at its contents with mild disinterest. “You’ve returned to Skyhold with an assassin and a mercenary company led by an agent of the Ben-Hassrath.” 

“Essentially, yes.” 

The corners of her mouth turned down in consideration. “Alright.” She finished her drink and turned her gaze to Renley. Her eyes were shimmering, perhaps due to the pink that tinged their whites, or the dark shadows that framed them. 

Leliana had grown quite familiar with the Inquisitor’s habits. She knew, for instance, that were she to make an observation about Renley’s wellbeing, that she would fluster and be compelled to avert her gaze. A diversion that would inevitably be followed with a change of subject. 

“Have you been sleeping?” 

“Not one bit.” Renley looked down at her empty glass. “Did Harding and Dagna make it back alright?” 

“They did.” Leliana smirked and turned her eyes to the empty bottle on the table before them. “Several days before you actually. Harding was worried about your sanity. I assured her its nothing out of the ordinary for you.” 

When the jab was not returned, she looked back to Renley. She smiled at the Inquisitor’s newest tactic of deflection. Her arms were crossed, her head resting on her shoulder, her features relaxed in a way that showed not a care in the world. 

The sky was a portrait of red and orange. The scent of malted drink and firewood diffused through the chamber. Renley’s breathing deepened, and Leliana lingered, her thoughts roaming as she watched a gentle breeze stir a lock of her confidant’s hair. 

Renley moved closer, her movements stuporous as though time itself had slowed. Leliana caught a glimpse of bleary eyes, squinting against rays of sun as they neared. Of arms, trembling softly as they stretched, loosening in preparation for a much-needed rest. 

With a soft exhale, Renley settled her head in the Spymaster’s lap. Leliana hesitated, caught off guard by the closeness, but it was all too easy to relax into the gesture. 

She caressed her fingers through Renley’s hair, working it away from her ear. She found herself lost between the slow rise and fall of the other’s shoulders and the sailor’s sky before them. Leliana knew her Inquisitor quite well, but there was still more, it seemed, to be uncovered. 

*** 

Solas crept through Skyhold’s halls in the dead of night. He made his way quietly through the courtyard, clinging to the shadows. 

The soldiers guarding the dungeon paid him no mind as he slipped past them. A simple request of Cole had set their minds at ease. They would not recall this night. 

A narrow stone passage opened up into the sky. Cells were carved into the face of the mountain. One of their number held the Inquisition’s most recent transgressor. 

He approached the prisoner’s cell. “Asura.” 

Chains slithered across stone as the prisoner stirred. Her pale hands encircled iron bars. She looked up at him as though he held the moon. 

“You came,” she breathed. 

A cool breeze whispered through the shadows. He looked down at her with pitiless eyes. “You failed me.” 

“Please.” Her brow crumpled, her eyes shining like jewels. “Release me from this cell. I will not disappoint you again.” 

“You must find your own way, for now.” 

She closed her eyes and the moisture they held released, spilling from the corners. “Vhen’an’ara, release me. I can kill the dwarf and return to the House of Repose.” 

“As if they would accept you.” 

Asura had been his most faithful agent. She would give herself, mind, body and soul to whatever cause he required it for. He found it pathetic. Asura was not, could never be Ilaan Lavellan. Yet even she had failed him in the end. 

“I shall do what I can for you. When the time is right. For now, you must endure.” 

“Please.” Asura snaked her hand through the bars, seeking his affection with the tips of her fingers. “Speak my name once more.” 

“Have you tired of hearing its bastardization, Ezra?” 

Her hand went limp. Silence stretched between them, as the master studied his puppet. This one had shown promise, but he had dozens more that would eagerly take her place. 

“Sule tael tasalal...Asura.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhen'an'ara - my heart's desire  
> Sule tael tasalal - Until we meet again.  
> Asura is derived from Ast'dhrua meaning 'inclined to have faith'.  
> I went down the rabbit hole with Project Elvhen. Their work is under my bookmarks. You should check it out!


	36. The Wager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a Dragon Age: Origins easter egg? 
> 
> Chapter 21 ties in with this chapter, if you find yourself in need of a recap.

A lambent red glow greeted Renley when she opened her eyes. Embers crackled softly in the hearth as they relinquished what little heat they had left to give. 

Sleep had taken hold of her all at once, and hadn’t relented for a second. Which is why she found it strange, waking to a well-tended fire and draped in a blanket that had been nowhere near her at the time. 

She gathered the woolen blanket around her shoulders and went to the balcony. The fog in her mind faded as she gazed at the silhouetted mountain pass. Dawn it seemed, was not far off. 

Flutters filled her stomach as she watched stars blink out of existence in an early morning sky. She returned the blanket to its place and dressed for training, dwelling as she did so, on the insinuation of the gestures performed by her Spymaster. 

The sky was lightening as Renley made her way across the courtyard. She paused as she neared the dungeon and nodded to the soldiers guarding its entrance. They returned her greetings with vague expressions and sluggish movements. 

She gave them a once over before continuing, thinking perhaps they were a bit sleep deprived. She made a note to speak with their Commander about increasing the intervals of their shift change. 

Cassandra was waiting for her as she entered the dueling ring. “For once, you appear rested.” 

Renley smiled. “I am, and I think today is the day that I finally beat you.” She drew a sword and faced her opponent. 

“Spoken with confidence.” The Seeker twirled her blade and unleashed her daunting gaze on Renley. “How about a wager?” 

“A wager?” Renley grinned. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“I win, and you reveal to me what you have to Leliana.” 

Silence fell like a curtain between them. Renley’s smile faltered as she eyed Cassandra. “Deal...and if I win, you have to challenge the Iron Bull to a drinking contest.” 

Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “Best two out of three.” 

They circled each other, the tension mounting with each step. 

Renley knew the Seeker well. She liked to lay traps when they dueled. Her arsenal of tricks was endless, but pure determination could outweigh the cleverest of swordsmen, or so Renley hoped. 

She lunged and the fight was on. The tips of their swords had been dulled for the purpose of practice, but when they collided, the sound rang out like a hammer on hot steel. 

Renley unleashed a whirlwind of attacks, and each blow was returned with ease. Just when the match had met its rhythm, Renley feinted, or at least made an attempt at it. 

Cassandra saw right through it. She ignored the feint completely and whacked Renley’s knee with the flat of her sword. 

“Ow!” 

The Seeker looked down on her with an evil smile. “That’s one.” 

“Ignoring the maneuver entirely was a bit reckless, don’t you think?” 

“Your face twitches when you feint.” 

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Renley limped to the center of the ring, her knee throbbing like no other. She settled into her stance and the second bout began. 

Renley caught a blow from Cassandra, letting the strike slide down her sword and toward the hilt. As the blades grazed, Renley spun into her opponent and knocked her off balance. She lost her footing and Renley brought her sword around and landed a clean hit against the Seeker’s ribs. 

“One for me.” 

“This is a duel.” Cassandra winced as she rubbed her side. “Not an Orlesian ball.” 

“You’re just mad because it worked.” 

They made their way once more to the center of the chamber. The days first light filtered in through the aperture, contributing long shadows to the flickering light of the sconces. This bout would decide the wager. 

Their swords met with a jarring ring. Each wielder held a determination that went beyond sport. Renley fought for her secrets, and though Cassandra had consequences of her own on the line, it was the prize that drove the swing of her blade. 

Each time Renley gained momentum, the Seeker took it away. What she could do with a sword was what their Spymaster could do with the shadows. Her blade sliced inches from Renley’s abdomen. She threw herself back and regained her footing to a flurry of attacks. 

Renley missed a step and slipped in the dirt, landing painfully on her knee. She raised her sword just in time to catch a strike from above. 

The Seeker’s blade was nearly close enough to catch the sweat dripping from Renley’s nose. With a wall at her back and her opponent barring down from above, Renley was cornered, but if she’d retained anything from her training, it was that momentum was the way out of a grapple. 

She dropped her sword and the Seeker’s blade struck stone near her ear. Renley grabbed Cassandra’s sleeve and wrenched her forward, unsheathing the dagger at her hip as she did so. Its point hit the eye on her opponent's chest with a clink. 

“You’ve lost,” breathed Renley.

Cassandra exhaled. “Damn it.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Renley grinned. “Practice your swear words for a night in the tavern.” 

If looks could kill, Renley’s story would have been much shorter. They stowed their blades and made their way to the dining hall with fresh bruises of skin, and in the Seeker’s case, ego. 

*** 

A troop moved through Skyhold’s encampment. Forty shields engraved with the Templar sigil marched in unison, like the king’s cavalry sent to the Inquisition’s aid in their darkest hour. Their breastplates, polished to a mirror shine, reflected the sun with a blinding gleam. 

Ser Barris led them with his head held high, appearing the very embodiment of a knight-commander. He entered the lift with five of his fiercest men. 

Heads turned as they approached the great hall. Soldiers kept a watchful eye, mages threw them weary glances, and the Templars advanced as an indivisible unit, their every step made with unshakeable intent. 

They stopped short of the throne where the Inquisitor stood with a woman who wore the sigil of the Seekers on her chest. The pair looked around as the Templars saluted. 

Ser Barris kneeled in greeting. “Inquisitor, ser.” He looked up and met the Inquisitor’s curious gaze. “I bring report from the field.” 

*** 

It was warm in the war room. Renley thought that the magic in Skyhold’s walls must take the seasons into account. 

“My company has eliminated the Red Templar threat in the Hinterlands,” Ser Barris addressed the council. “But our presence there brought other threats to our attention.” 

“Such as?” asked Renley. 

“The Fallow Mire. Once we settled things with the Red Templars, we began to hear whispers among your people. We took it upon ourselves to investigate.” 

Renley touched eyes with Leliana. 

“You had no right to take action without our order.” Though clearly a reprimand, Cullen’s voice was calm. 

“I’m sorry, Commander.” Barris dipped his head in submission. “But from the sound of things we had no time to waste. A group called the Avvar had taken a unit of your soldiers hostage. We defeated their leader and freed your men with no casualties on our side.” 

The muted sounds of a scuffle drew their attentions to the door. Muffled words were exchanged followed by silence. Moments later, a small, angry elven mage burst through the door. 

“Enchanter Fiona?” 

“Inquisitor.” Fiona marched right up to Renley with an expression that could curdle milk. “I must insist you heed my council on allowing these barbarians within Skyhold’s walls.” 

Ser Barris looked down his nose at her. “You call my men barbarians, yet we are not the ones barging into war councils.” 

“The Templars have sided with Corypheus, Your Grace. Surely, they mean only to sabotage what we have worked so hard for.” 

“My men are honest. We have faced suffering that you could never understand.” 

The tips of Fiona’s fingers sparked, quite literally, with malice. “Your people are the cause of our suffering. The catalyst that led to-” 

“Watch your tone apostate,” spat Barris. “I lead a solid group of men, none of which are at risk of becoming abominations.” 

Fiona stepped forward and Renley moved between them. “Enough!” The cool metal of Ser Barris’ breastplate struck her shoulder as static drew her hair forward from the energy gathering in Fiona’s hands. 

Cullen stepped forward and wrenched Barris back. Cassandra grabbed Fiona’s arm and the electricity died instantly. Renley looked around at her council, the tension in the air nearly thick enough to rival the mage’s magic. 

“Both of you are here in service to the Inquisition.” Renley looked between the two. “You’ve proven yourselves useful, but I will not tolerate infighting. Within these walls, you are allies. If you can’t accept that, then you have no place here.” 

“But the Templars-” Fiona fell silent under the Inquisitor’s glare. 

“Keep your people under control. Both of you. If any problems arise, it comes straight to me. Before being dealt with. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” they chanted. 

“Cullen.” Renley looked past Barris to their Commander. “Make sure your men are keeping an eye on things.” 

“It will be done.” 

“Go.” Renley gestured to the door. “And expect to hear from us shortly.” 

Barris and Fiona left the room, looking far from complacent. Renley turned to Cassandra. “Make sure they get where they’re going without further incident.” 

Cassandra nodded and followed them from the room. 

Renley sighed as she looked around at her advisors. “Well...shit.” 

“We must entertain the idea that mages and Templars working together is not a possibility,” said Leliana. 

“Ser Barris returned to us with better results than we anticipated,” replied Cullen. 

“And yet he was openly hostile toward our mage ally,” countered Josephine. 

Cullen folded his arms. “It wasn’t unprovoked.” 

“Perhaps we should send Ser Barris and his company on another assignment.” Leliana eyed their Commander. “You did mention he was effective in the field.” 

Renley looked down at the map of Thedas. “He has forty men, right? Let’s send him to Emprise du Lion. Have them capture Suledin Keep from the Red Templars.” 

“We do have troops in that area.” Cullen scratched his chin thoughtfully. “With the aid of Ser Barris and his men, it should prove easy.” 

“Good,” Renley exhaled. “Send them out as soon as possible.” 

“Perhaps they could be dispatched before we depart for Halamshiral next week?” Josephine’s face fell as she looked over Cullen and Renley. “You haven’t forgotten?” 

Renley exchanged a nervous glance with her Commander. Their dread of the ball was something they shared in. They mumbled evasive replies to their Ambassador. 

Josephine rolled her eyes and grabbed Cullen by the sleeve. “I shall start with you. I assume you know your measurements?” 

“Well...I-” Cullen cleared his throat and stammered through his reply. The wicket door closed softly behind them leaving the Inquisitor and the Spymaster standing over the war table. 

Renley groaned and rubbed her eyes. 

“You stand between mages and Templars, but despair at the very mention of a dance.” 

An exasperated smile stole onto Renley’s features. She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “All those lessons with Josephine and she couldn’t have taught me dancing?” 

Leliana chuckled and made her way around the table. “You don’t know how to dance?” 

“Of course, I do. Just not the line, circle...square dances or whatever it is the nobles do.” 

She leaned a hip against the table and smirked down at Renley. “I’ll be sure to tell Josie to lend extra resources to ensuring our Inquisitor can handle herself in the ballroom.” 

Renley’s response was muffled in her hands. “Looking forward to it.” 

“Are you?” 

“No.” 

“And I’m sure at least a day of your preparations will be devoted to grooming.” Leliana’s smile turned teasing. 

Renley straightened and folded her arms. “What’s wrong with my grooming?” 

“Where should I begin?” 

“With an apology.” Renley smiled incredulously. “I’ve never been so insulted.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Leliana eyed her fondly, her gaze lingering on a stray lock of hair near Renley’s cheek. “Your hair is getting long.” 

“It’s in the way.” She dropped her eyes and tucked the stray curl behind her ear. “I was tempted to take my dagger to it in the field.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” 

Renley met the gaze of her Spymaster. At times she found her looks disconcerting. The blue in her stare could change from soft to piercing in an instant, but more and more Renley found herself intrigued by it. 

The door creaked alerting them to the presence of another. An agent stepped in and saluted. “Your Worship. Seeker Penteghast sent me with a message. She says to meet her in the tavern at sundown.” 

“Perfect.” Renley grinned as the agent withdrew. 

Leliana threw a curious glance her way. 

“I took a gamble this morning.” Renley took a step toward the door. “Luckily for me it paid off.” 

“Do I dare inquire further?” 

Renley lingered on the threshold. “Knowing you, you’ve already received a full report on the proceedings.” 

Leliana chuckled darkly. “Try not to be seduced by the passing bard tonight.” 

“And with that-” Renley made her escape with a crooked grin fixed to her features “-I leave you.” 

*** 

Come nightfall Renley set her feet for the tavern. She ran into Varric in his favored spot before the hearth in the great hall. 

He smirked as she approached, the usual twinkle in his eye heralding mischief. “Hey, Killer.” 

Renley drew short at the greeting. “Killer?” 

“Yeah. Lady killer.” He sat his quill down and stretched. The wicked grin in his features widened at the reaction he’d drawn from Renley. “That, and all the actual killing you do.” 

“You-” She tried to form words but found she’d been stunned into silence. “Remind me again why we keep you around?” 

“Aw, don’t kick me out yet. We’re just getting to the good part.” 

“You’re on thin ice.” Renley relented with a sheepish smile. “Follow me down to the tavern. I have a surprise for you.” 

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” 

They made their way into a warm, twilit courtyard. The windows of the Herald’s Rest held an orange glow. The merry sounds of its patrons drifted to their ears on the tune of a lute. 

The gaiety enveloped them as they crossed the threshold. The atmosphere was contagious, bringing with it a sense of anticipation, like the very air around them held opportunity. 

Cassandra waited at the end of the bar. Her gaze was fixed to her hands folded before her on the counter. 

Renley leaned against the bar and studied the Seeker. Her grin softened as she took in the other’s reluctant expression. “You don’t have to go through with this.” 

“A deal is a deal.” Cassandra looked up from her hands. “I would have expected the same of you.” 

“As you say.” She left her with Varric and approached her newest companions. The Iron Bull and his Chargers had occupied a corner of the tavern. The cask they’d hauled from the Storm Coast sat open among them. 

The booming voice of the Iron Bull greeted her. “Boss. How ‘bout that drink?” 

“I have a proposition for you.” She folded her arms and looked to the cask. It hadn’t been opened so much as it had been mutilated with axes. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to Renley if each drink procured form the barrel contained splinters. “A drinking contest.” 

The Chargers stirred in excitement. Bull waved them down. “You’re on. Pick your poison.” 

“It's not me you’re challenging.” She looked back at the bar and gestured to Cassandra. “She lost a bet with me this morning. This is her consequence.” 

“Hm...” Bull looked to the bar and studied Cassandra. “Trying to loosen up the Seeker, eh?” 

Something in his tone brought uneasy prickles to Renley’s skin. “In a sense, yes...” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “The thing is, we both know she’ll never beat you. I don’t want her to drink herself into a stupor.” 

Bull stood and smirked down at Renley. “Don’t worry boss. I got this.” 

*** 

The Iron Bull and Cassandra sat at a wooden table lit by the light of a single lantern. Four glasses contained an amber liquid before each participant. The Chargers surrounded the table. Varric and Sera had snagged seats on the bar, much to the displeasure of Cabot the barkeep. 

Renley placed her hands on the Seeker’s shoulders and leaned down. “There’s still time to back out.” 

Cassandra reached forward and grabbed the first drink. She drained it in one go and thumped glass to table amidst cheers from the onlookers. The Iron Bull finished his first glass like it was water. Renley straightened and bit her thumb 

“Burning. Warm. Like the golden one in a sea of emerald. It's beautiful, but its private.” 

Renley looked to her right. “Cole?” 

He observed his surroundings beneath the brim of his hat. “It’s...very loud. But in a good way. They are happy here.” 

“What was that about the golden one?” 

Cole’s eyes were like dungeons as they bore into her own. “It’s gone now. It makes her happy. But she tries not to think of it. I don’t understand.” 

Renley’s eyes widened in reaction to his depthless gaze. “That makes two of us.” 

Four drinks later, the Seeker was holding her own. The tavern was tumultuous with drunken spectators. Cole crept about in the corner throwing curious glances at the resident bard. 

“Hey, you.” Sera approached and thrust a tankard in Renley’s hand. “Good one, wrangling broody breeches into a drinking contest.” 

“I did promise you pranks.” Renley grinned at the rogue. 

“I’d say it's you who needs the pranks.” Sera placed an arm around her shoulders and bumped her tankard against Renley’s, splashing her and anyone within arm's reach in ale. “’Specially after you locked up your bard.” 

“Well, my bard turned out to be an assassin. So, there’s that.” 

“Tried to tell you. Bet you wish she stole your coin purse now, don’t you?” 

Renley chuckled and took a long draught of her ale. 

“There’s something elf-y about that one.” Sera stumbled resulting in a rather painful jerk at Renley’s neck. 

Renley wrenched them upright again. “Ezra’s not an elf. I’d know, believe me.” 

“You don’t need the ears to have it in you. Have it in you. Get it?” Sera tipped her tankard over and spilled the remainder of its contents on Renley’s boots. “Shit. I’m empty!” She staggered back to the bar, brandishing her tankard at Cabot. 

“Iron Bull.” Cassandra had removed the bulk of her armor, leaving her undershirt, its sleeves rolled to her elbows. “I can tell...that you like to hit things.” 

Bull, to Cassandra’s credit, was not exactly sober either. “I knew you’d understand!” 

They drank together, finishing their seventh with grimaces and wrinkled noses. 

“I know all about it.” Cassandra picked up the next glass and waved it at Bull. “I once punched a bear.” 

“Knew it!” Sera’s voice carried over the crowd from the bar. 

“I once punched the Inquisitor.” The crowd gasped as she finished her drink and slammed it on the table between them. “And I will punch the Iron Bull.” 

Bull roared with laughter and choked down his remaining drink. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” 

Cassandra’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. She raised her fists and stepped toward Bull, but the drink had taken its toll. She stumbled into Renley. 

“Alright, that’s game over.” Renley grabbed the Seeker’s arm and pulled it around her shoulders amidst jeers from the tavern’s patrons. 

The voice of the Iron Bull called to them as they neared the tavern’s exit. “I’ll be waiting on that hit!” 

Night had fallen over Skyhold. Cassandra staggered onward with a steadying hand from Renley. “The veal holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her bacon and her shield, her foundation-” 

Renley laughed, “What are you saying?” 

“It is the Chant of Light.” They clambered up the stairs and made their way along the ramparts to the Seeker’s chamber. “As the Herald of Andraste...you should know this.” 

“If I had known bacon was in the Chant, I’d have paid closer attention.” Renley shouldered open the door and pulled Cassandra over the threshold. 

She looked around as the Seeker staggered to her bed. The room was tidy to the point of looking as though it hadn’t been lived in. Only a few spare items stood out to indicate the presence of an inhabitant. 

A stack of letters lay on a table by the door. Spare armor was piled in the corner. A single book rested on the nightstand. It was the book that piqued Renley’s interest. She lifted it from its place and examined the cover. 

“Swords and Shields by Varric Tethras.” Renley grinned and shook the book at Cassandra. “Are you a fan of great literature?” 

Cassandra groaned and propped herself up on her elbows. “Don’t tell Varric.” 

“I’ll keep your secret.” She sat down next to the Seeker and flipped absentmindedly through the book. “If for no other reason than to ease the guilt I feel for the state of you.” 

The Seeker sank back to the blankets. “Was there romance in your world?” 

“Of course, there was,” Renley chuckled. “It seems romance is a universal experience.” 

“What is the greatest romance of your people?” 

“Hm...” A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she pondered her choices. “There is one.” 

The Seeker slurred her response, “What is it?” 

“There was this ogre who lived in a swamp-” 

“Eck!” She lifted her head and squinted at Renley. “What a horrible story.” 

“You didn’t give it a chance!” 

“Romances should include dragon fights and beautiful women.” 

“My story has both.” 

Cassandra sighed and settled back to the blankets. Her breathing deepened and Renley’s smile wavered. Taking the wager had been reckless. A part of her had hoped to lose, to be bound by consequence to divulge her knowledge. Instead, she had gotten the Seeker drunk. 

She sighed and rose to her feet. 

Cassandra spoke as she reached the doorway. “What is your secret?” 

She turned to the Seeker, who lay motionless in her bed. “I know the future.” 

A beat of silence followed her declaration. 

“Very funny,” mumbled Cassandra. 

Renley released her air. They’d both won their prize this night, but one of them wouldn’t remember it come morning. 

She stepped into a summer’s night and lingered on the ramparts. Her gaze strayed to a section on the battlements overlooking the courtyard. She recalled the meeting that had taken place there, and all the moments that had followed. 

Memories of Hawke came as impressions, like recollections of dreams that escaped in the early morning hours. It always left her with a vague sense of longing, a feeling that dulled with each passing day. 

A warm breeze sifted through her hair, and took with it her musings. She closed her eyes and for the first time since Adamant, saw blue in place of amber. 


	37. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Halamshiral, where everything's made up and the points don't matter.

All was dark on a quiet evening in Halamshiral. The city was a maze of recycled architecture built on the backs of the Dalish. One corner of this winding infrastructure had been claimed by the Inquisition in preparation for their venture to the Winter Palace. 

Renley crept through a narrow alleyway. Buildings spanned four stories on either side, leaving a thin trail of stars as the only source of light. A network of balconies dotted the dwellings, interspersed with towering latticework woven with ivy. 

As she neared the alley’s middle she collided with a sturdy frame. She drew back and looked upon the culprit. “Cullen?” 

“Inquisitor?” Stress lined his features. Every inch of him was poised for flight. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

He visibly relaxed under her scrutiny, but the tension remained in his voice. “Just...having an evening stroll.” 

Renley narrowed her eyes. “If you say so...” 

The pair stood awkwardly for a moment, until the echoes of footsteps on cobblestone drew them to vigilance. They locked eyes, both visibly rattled. 

“This way!” hissed Renley. 

She dug a foot into the nearest lattice and scaled the building. Cullen clambered up after her and together they crested the wall. Renley heaved herself over the edge and reached back to offer the Commander a hand. 

With their feet firmly on the roof, they peeked down at the alleyway. A dark figure in blinding white robes approached another in shining gold. 

“Madame Vivienne.” The voice of their Ambassador was just audible as it echoed through the alley. 

“Lady Montilyet,” replied Vivienne. 

“Have you seen Commander Rutherford?” 

Renley cut her gaze at her fellow refugee. He returned the look from the corner of his eye. 

“No. Nor have I had luck in wrangling the Inquisitor for that matter. I fear we have embarked on an impossible endeavor.” 

Even from their vantage they could hear Josephine’s frustrated sigh. “Perhaps we should move on to Seeker Penteghast.” 

“Quite. Though I daresay we should be making Sera our priority.” 

“Don’t get me started.” 

Their voices faded as the pair withdrew into the night. 

A smile split Renley’s features. “Are you afraid of Josephine?” 

“Of course not.” The Commander glanced at her. “Well, perhaps her remarks _can_ be a bit scathing.” 

Renley threw her head back and laughed. She turned away from Cullen and put space between herself and the edge. 

Gravel crunched under foot as he approached. “Don’t tell me you’ve never found yourself trapped in one of her tirades.” 

“All the time.” Renley folded her arms and smirked up at him. “Which is why I know exactly how to escape them.” 

Cullen huffed in amusement. “And how’s that?” 

“Well, most recently I threatened to hack my hair off.” She smiled at the Commander’s barking laugh. 

“You wouldn’t, surely?” 

“But she doesn’t know that. It’s all in the bluff.” 

“Very well.” He glanced down at her with an unfamiliar twinkle in his eye. “You know how to handle Josephine, but Vivienne’s presence sent you scrambling up a wall.” 

It was Renley’s turn to laugh. “You would have too, with someone like her after you. I’ve seen her freeze men in place, only to publicly humiliate them and send them fleeing with their tails tucked between their legs.” 

“Fair point.” Cullen sighed and turned his attention to the horizon. A cascade of stars shimmered in the sky. The Winter Palace stood among them, nearly as bright and far more eye catching. “It’s beautiful from afar.” 

“But on the inside, it's just waiting to kick us in the teeth.” 

A low chuckle hummed in Cullen’s throat. “You know, were it not for our dire circumstances, we may not have witnessed this view.” He looked down at Renley with a kind smile. “It seems even the worst of situations can result in something spectacular.” 

Renley regarded him a moment. She huffed and looked back to the stars. “I’m surrounded by hidden romantics.” 

They remained on the roof for some time, debating the logistics of navigating Halamshiral unseen by Josephine and Vivienne. All the while, the Winter Palace glowed gold and white on the horizon, a mess of intrigue and deadly plots, just waiting to be uncovered. 

*** 

“Her Ladyship, Mai Bhalsych of Korse!” Sera snickered as her fake title was called. 

In that moment, Renley regretted more than ever allowing Josephine to talk her out of bringing Varric and Bull along. Especially Varric. No one had a talent for diffusing social tensions like him. 

She was sorely in need of a companion like that, for her nerves had been on edge from the moment she entered the palace. From the gates to the vestibule there had been nothing if not ill omens. 

Gaspard’s introduction had seen an invasion of her personal space, having come so close that Renley could smell the brandy on his breath. Then of course came Josephine’s final speech. The consequence of losing the Game, she warned, ranged anywhere from death to more death. 

As if cryptic warnings and sleazy greetings weren’t enough, a silver locket fell from nowhere and struck Renley’s temple. Where it might have come from seemed less important than why the world had chosen her to strike with random objects. 

Renley bowed as she reached the end of the dance floor. The Empress, like all the other nobles in attendance, was stiff to the point of being ridiculous. 

“Lady Inquisitor. We welcome you to the Winter Palace.” 

“It’s a pleasure to be here, Your Majesty.” Renley felt leashed, like the smallest slip in etiquette would result in reprimand. 

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day.” 

The true triumph of the night was in Renley successfully swallowing a groan. She blurted out her reply, making little effort to conceal her sarcasm, “That’s a beautiful metaphor.” 

“I believe it is a simile.” The Empress smirked. An involuntary gesture that was gone nearly before Renley had registered it. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to seeing you dance.” 

Renley bowed once more and ascended the stairs. Leliana fell into step beside her. “Are you capable of normal interactions?” 

“No.” Renley rubbed her temple. A small lump was forming just above her hair line. They entered the vestibule and approached a relatively empty seating area. “Does something seem off to you?” 

Leliana looked at Renley with a stony expression. “We are in the throes of the Great Game. Everything is off here.” 

Renley ran her fingers through her hair, lingering at the spot the locket had struck. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, but her knowledge of this night did nothing to dispel the sense of cluelessness she felt. 

And what did she know, anyway? That Florianne was the assassin was the most important detail, and very nearly the only one Renley remembered. 

A tug at her sleeve drew her out of her musings. “Don’t get distracted.” Leliana turned a critical eye on her hair, tidying the tangle that Renley’s fidgeting had caused. “Remember why we’re here.” 

How was she to manage that, with the Spymaster as close as she was? Leliana’s gaze, for once, was not holding her own, providing Renley with the opportunity to look upon the other unnoticed. She found herself wondering how she had never noted the dark outline of her irises. 

And feathers. Reality, or the lack thereof, was brought sharply into focus as Renley laid eyes on a chicken, strutting its way into the Hall of Heroes. 

“I’ll meet you in the ballroom,” Renley murmured. She brushed past Leliana and exited the vestibule. 

The hen marched on, giving every appearance of belonging among the partygoers, and Renley followed. The nobility didn’t spare a glance at the unlikely duo. The pair might as well have been old friends taking a peaceful evening stroll. 

Her pursuit led her to the guest gardens, where the fowl disappeared among the legs of the crowd. Renley waded in after it, and came out near a fountain on the far side of the square. 

The sounds of trickling water and idle chatter diffused through the garden, and the chicken was nowhere to be found. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Renley murmured, echoing Leliana's words from mere moments ago. “Easier said than done.” 

A drop of moisture struck the tip of her nose. To be hit by rain on a cloudless night at least seemed somewhat kinder than being pelted with jewelry. 

She wiped her nose and her fingers came away red. Her eyes shot upward and fell upon a dark substance, oozing over the balcony above. Without so much as a glance at her surroundings, she clambered up the lattice and made her way onto the balcony. 

The marble was smeared with blood, leaving a trail of red ending at a set of doors directly across from her. Renley eased them open and stepped into a library. 

The trail went cold just beyond the threshold. Renley knelt down and observed the gore. “Morrigan’s doing?” 

At least it was so in the story, but this blood was fresh. Fresh enough to drip down the side of the balcony. In Renley’s experience, blood only behaved in such a way when flowing from its source. “What is going on?” 

A shout rang out in the gardens. “Francois! Your doublet. It is bleeding!” 

Renley froze as more voices joined in. 

“It isn’t bleeding, you fool. The blood is dripping from the balcony.” 

“Shit,” breathed Renley. She bolted upright and her foot flew out from beneath her. She hit the ground and found a marble bust staring down at her with pitiless eyes. 

It teetered on its pedestal and hit the ground with a resounding crash. 

“I heard noises!” 

“Summon the guard!” 

A bell rang in the distance, signaling her need to return to the ball room. She stumbled to her feet and drew further into the library. 

“This way. There are footprints!” 

The soul left Renley’s body as she looked down at her bloodied boots. She couldn’t return to the vestibule with evidence soaking her feet. 

The footsteps of her pursuers grew louder every second. With her heart pounding in her ears, she threw open the nearest window and vaulted into the night. 

It seemed that some luck remained with Renley, for instead of breaking her bones on the stone below, she landed precariously on a garden arbor. Before her stood an ornate fountain adorned with golden lions and a well dressed corpse. 

A second bell tolled. “Fashionably late,” Renley noted. She hopped off the arbor and scraped her boots against a concrete planter. 

She approached the body and knelt down to examine it. What the significance of this discovery was escaped Renley. The man looked like any other noble in attendance, and without her companions around to identify him, it would remain that way. 

Light fell over the fountain as the third bell tolled. A guard was leaning from the library’s window with a lantern. 

Renley took shelter in the nearest shrubbery. She eased along on her hands and knees, trying her best not to rustle the foliage. 

Her hand fell on a hard object abandoned in the dirt. “A dagger?” She grasped the hilt and squinted at the blade. Inlayed with jewels and other impractical nonsense, the weapon surely belonged to someone important. 

She tucked it into her belt and traversed the shadows, doing her best to keep clear of the open garden square. It was difficult to say exactly where she was going, for she didn’t actually know. The ballroom would have been a good start, but the gardens were teeming with hedge mazes and flowering tunnels. 

Her anxiety mounted with every turn. The night held the same feeling as a dream where you were late for everything and always forgetting something. 

At last, she came upon a balcony. Its railing was nonexistent, and part of its platform had fallen through, but if it provided a way back into the palace, Renley was willing to chance it. 

She clambered up the side and drew close to the wall. Voices drifted through the open doors, speaking a language she didn’t recognize. One of them cried out in apparent pain and the sounds of a scuffle followed. 

Renley unsheathed her blade and peeked around the corner. A masked woman was outnumbered three to one by Venatori, keeping them at bay with dual wielded daggers. 

Renley rolled into the room and slashed a Venatori’s ankle. The wounded fell to his knee, and Renley dragged her blade across his throat. She locked eyes with the masked woman as the agent fell at her feet. “Briala, I presume?” 

A knife whizzed past Renley’s ear. It hit its mark and a body crumpled to the floor some distance behind her. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” Briala drew another knife from her belt and held it by its point. 

“I can honestly say it's purely coincidence.” 

Briala approached her nonchalantly. “My reports said you were terribly boring.” 

Renley tucked the dagger in her belt and folded her arms. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Oh?” Briala stepped over a corpse and made her way to the balcony. “You think you have insight into my world, Inquisitor?” 

“Of course, not.” The finer details of this night may have been lost on Renley, but one thing she did recall was Briala and her network of elven spies. There was more than one elf that she wished to inquire about. “But you have insight into mine. Insight I’d be willing to strike a deal for.” 

“And what manner of information are you after?” 

“Nothing too exciting.” Renley joined her on the balcony. “Provide me with the intel I’m looking for and it may prove beneficial to your cause.” 

“You seem to know a great deal already.” Briala eyed her curiously. “I’m eager to know what more I could offer you.” 

Though she longed to deepen their discussion, it would have to wait. “Let’s start with directions to the ballroom.” 

Briala smirked, “Stay east, Inquisitor. I’ll be in touch.” She slipped from the balcony and into the night. 

Renley sighed, “Like I know which way east is.” 

*** 

Feeling as though she had braved a forest full of briars, Renley at last neared the ballroom’s entrance. 

“Well, well...what have we here?” 

Renley turned on her heel and laid eyes on a raven-haired woman with golden eyes. She was dressed for court but her attire couldn’t have been more telling. From her burgundy dress to her worn leather boots, there was no mistaking this one's identity. “Morrigan.” 

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she neared. “Have we met?” 

“Not yet.” 

They stood for a moment, sizing each other up. Renley had thought Leliana’s looks were chilling, but Morrigan’s were down right scorching. 

“You’ve been very busy this evening.” 

Renley exhaled, “Through no fault of my own, I assure you.” 

Morrigan gathered her skirts and circled Renley. “Perhaps you and I hold similar interests?” 

Yet another bell tolled. Renley wondered if skipping the first summons and answering the second counted as even more fashionably late. “Let’s discuss this later.” 

She turned her back on Morrigan’s glower and barged into the ballroom, very nearly trampling a woman that looked to Renley like a goose that had been granted humanity. 

“Inquisitor, I regret that I was unable to greet you earlier. I am the Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.” 

“Grand Duchess.” Renley’s nerves had peaked. The night had not relented for a second. 

“Come. Dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.” 

Blood tingled through her veins as they began their dance. Renley was hard pressed to think of a more embarrassing scenario than to weave daintily through nobles with her arms held aloft. 

“I have heard many fascinating rumors about your origins.” Florianne twirled about, transforming from goose to swan. “May I assume your knowledge to be limited when it comes to our little war?” 

“Oh yes.” Renley returned the perceived slight with interest. “The head of a military organization knows nothing about the war ravaging the land around them.” 

“Many leaders are but puppets, their strings pulled by those far more intelligent than they.” 

What little bit of restraint Renley had been clinging to dissolved. The pair came together and twirled to the center of the dance floor. "Tell me, Grand Duchess, what’s Corypheus like in person? Our first meeting left me with a poor impression.” 

Florianne caught her breath and spun away from Renley in an elegant pirouette. Around them the dancing continued, but Renley and Florianne stood firm, locked in a deadly staring contest. 

“We have the proof.” Renley made her bluff, thanking Josephine for onelesson that showed its worth in the end. “Now all we need is you.” 

The Duchess twitched and Renley drew her dagger. Gasps and cries rang through the ballroom as she lunged at Florianne. The Duchess disappeared in a plume of smoke. 

The smoke dispersed and Renley regained her wits to an arrow pointing at her chest wielded by Florianne. The room around them descended into chaos as Venatori agents made themselves known. 

An evil smirk stole onto Florianne’s features. She aimed her bow over Renley’s shoulder and released her arrow at the Empress. An arrow pierced Florianne’s skull, giving Renley the insane impression that the Duchess had somehow shot herself. 

Renley looked up and found Sera with a razor-sharp look in her eye. She nocked another arrow and set her sights for the remainder of the Venatori. Florianne fell lifeless to the floor and Renley joined the Inquisition in their fight. 

The chaos ended, and almost immediately, Inquisition soldiers were dragging corpses from the ballroom. Servants followed close behind, dealing with the mess in all haste until the floor was gleaming once more. 

Heads turned as Renley weaved through the crowd, eager to learn if Florianne’s arrow had met its mark. A pool of crimson confirmed her fears. The arrow had pierced Celene's shoulder, but the Empress was still lucid. 

Celene wrenched the arrow from her shoulder with a grunt, drawing a collective gasp from the spectators. The Empress was helped to her feet and rushed to the balcony where her wounds would be tended in private. 

“What happened?” Cullen rushed forward followed by Leliana and Josephine. 

“We foiled the assassin.” Renley wiped the blood from her blade on her sleeve. 

“Yes, but...” Josephine creased her brow. “What _happened_?” 

Renley reached into her coat and placed her finger on the locket that had struck her earlier in the night. She recalled the cryptid chicken, the blood that didn’t act like blood. It all seemed more like a fever dream than actual events. 

A murmur rippled through the ballroom. Empress Celene approached with a bandaged shoulder, accompanied by Gaspard and Briala. 

“Inquisitor, may we have a word?” Celene led them to the balcony, her head held high despite her injury. 

Gaspard and Briala began hurling accusations at one another before they had even crossed the threshold. 

“Enough!” Celene shouted them down. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation. For the safety of the Empire, I will have answers.” 

The group looked around at Renley. Renley looked at Gaspard. Gaspard looked at Renley’s belt. His eyes flashed through the slits of his mask. 

“Ah...” Renley smiled and drew the blade. “This is your dagger, isn’t it? I found it on a corpse in the garden.” 

“The council emissary?” Briala stepped forward and took the dagger. “So, Gaspard. You kill members of the Council of Heralds, hire mercenaries to infiltrate the palace...” She fingered the blade and looked at Gaspard in triumph. “Is there no limit to the measures you’d take to steal the crown?” 

Gaspard was unperturbed by her claims. “Your blind accusations do nothing but make you look foolish.” 

Renley glanced at Briala. “I can speak to the legitimacy of her claims.” 

Celene tilted her chin and fixed Gaspard with a cold stare. “In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the state. You are hereby sentenced to death.” 

Renley waited in silence as the imperial guard marched Gaspard from the balcony. She pulled the locket from her coat and turned it over in her fingers. 

Celene stepped forward and snatched it from Renley’s hands. “Where did you get this?” 

“Um-” 

“You kept it?” Briala stepped toward Celene, her gaze fixed to the locket. 

“I...” Even on a dark balcony the glow in Celene’s cheeks was apparent. 

Renley shrunk in on herself as the women before her had their moment. Though no words were exchanged, the tenderness of their stares was suffocating. After what felt like ages, Renley coughed. 

“Inquisitor.” Celene regained her senses and set her shoulders. “We must give the good news to the nobility.” She withdrew into the ballroom and addressed the court. 

She called for peace, for celebration, and for support of the Inquisition. She even called for change, granting Briala the title of Marquise of the Dales. The Empress finished by calling for a continuation of the festivities. Bards would surely sing songs of the wounded lion, stoic and brave as she saw to her pride. 

At long last, Renley made her escape. She ventured back onto the balcony and was greeted with mild summer air and a moonless night. Halamshiral glowed faintly below, and she wanted nothing more than to escape the palace and creep through the ancient alleyways of the city. 

Heels clacked on marble disturbing her peace yet again. “The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?” 

“Morrigan.” Renley massaged the corners of her eyes. “What can I do for you?” 

“The real question is what can I do for you? By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition.” 

Renley leaned against the railing and let Morrigan talk. Her mental capacities were dwindling, and certainly not in a place to verbally spar with such an important asset. But as she let her mind wander, a thought crept to the forefront. 

“Morrigan?” 

Morrigan halted her monologue and cut her gaze at Renley. 

“Did you kill someone in the library?” Renley continued. 

“Were you listening to anything I just said?” asked Morrigan. 

Renley stared unblinking at the golden eyed mage. 

“I sparred with a Tenvinter spy-” 

“What did you do with his body?” 

She looked at Renley as though she had just vomited on her boots. “I hid him. Until a more appropriate opportunity presents itself to dispose of the body.” 

“And you’re sure they’re dead?” 

“Yes!” Morrigan’s stiff demeanor disintegrated. “I am quite certain that the spy I murdered is dead. I didn’t have the time nor the strength to carry him elsewhere, so I hid him with magic. He is invisible to all who pass.” 

Renley nodded. “So, the source _was_ nearby. But why wouldn’t his blood be invisible? How does that work?” 

“Who found it prudent to place you in charge of the Inquisition?” 

“That only leaves...” Renley’s eyebrows came together in consideration. “The chicken.” 

_“Excuse me?”_

Renley turned to Morrigan with an accusatory expression. “You were the chicken.” 

Morrigan pinched the bridge of her nose. “The fate of Thedas lies in the hands of a fool.” 

“You can shapeshift. Right?” 

A squawk interrupted Morrigan’s response. Little footsteps slapped across the marble, and a chicken approached from the ballroom. 

“Pierre!” A servant girl flounced onto the balcony and swept the chicken into her arms. “I’ve been searching everywhere.” She froze as she laid eyes on Renley and Morrigan. “Your-Your Worship...I’m-” 

“It’s alright,” said Renley. “Just...take Pierre and be sure he doesn’t become tomorrow's dinner.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor!” She tucked the chicken into her coat and hurried away. 

The silence left in Pierre’s wake was deafening. 

Renley raised an eyebrow at Morrigan. “I suppose I should welcome you to the Inquisition now?” 

With a rather impressive eye roll, Morrigan returned to the ballroom. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Leliana appeared from the shadows. 

Renley folded her arms. “Either your timing is impeccable or you were spying.” 

Leliana ignored the comment and closed the distance between them. She swept her into a dance with a confidence that would put even the clumsiest of dance partners at ease. “I was eager to know if unsheathing your blade was an occurrence reserved for the Duchess.” 

She relaxed into the motions and adjusted her hold around her partner’s waist. “So it’s violence your after.” 

“You do have a way of missing the point.” Leliana raised a brow at her before settling closer. Her voice was at Renley’s ear when next she spoke, “Did you have an interesting conversation with Morrigan?” 

Renley responded absentmindedly, her attention taken by the lone braid in her partner’s hair. “I think interesting is the wrong word.” 

“Oh?” Leliana smirked. “What would you use in its place?” 

“How about bizarre?” 

“A worthy description for you both.” 

They danced just beyond the reach of the ballroom’s light. The sounds of the festivities withered at the threshold and were lost among the vines that crept along the palace walls. 

Renley chanced a glance at her dancing partner. Leliana’s eyes were hidden beneath her lashes. She let her own gaze deepen, lured by yet another opportunity to see without being seen. 

Leliana's nose came closer, and Renley grew certain that she was aware of the attention she was being paid. 

The Spymaster drew her in with the simplest of gestures, and though she needn’t have been so subtle, Renley found that the subtlety captivated her. 

She could feel the will slipping from her fingers as they grasped ever tighter at Leliana’s waist. Their dance became an embrace and the world grew smaller, until the only thing in existence was the air closing between them. 

If it weren’t for a very timely interruption, the events that followed might have turned out significantly more explicit. 

“Inquisitor. I...didn’t mean to intrude.” 

The pair looked around at a wide-eyed Inquisition soldier. They broke apart as the soldier relayed his message. “Commander Rutherford requests your presence in the guest gardens.” 

“Is something wrong?” asked Renley. 

“I’m not sure, ser. He says to bring you there at once.” 

“Alright,” sighed Renley. “I’ll be there shortly.” 

The soldier retreated and the remaining two were left to deal with the aftermath of their moment. 

“Go,” said Leliana. “We’ll speak later.” 

Whatever crisis Cullen had stumbled upon was insignificant to Renley in that moment. But if the night had taught her anything, it was that the Winter Palace would beat you over the head with clues until you followed them. 

“As you say.” Renley smirked and withdrew into the ballroom. 

*** 

Renley met the soldier in the guest gardens. He led her to a flight of stairs and gestured down. “He’s waiting below, ser.” 

Renley eyed the soldier nervously. She hadn’t the energy for any further scandal, but the stairs led her to a secluded balcony full of unmasked nobles and barrels upon barrels of ale. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen waved her over to a table laden with empty glasses and a bottle of clear liquor. Four shots stood ready before him. Standing over two of these was Sera and Cassandra. 

Renley grinned. “What are you three doing down here?” 

Merry music accompanied the drunken laughter and shouts of the milder company of the balls underground festivities. Three individuals had procured a lute, a flute, and a block of wood, the latter of which was used as a makeshift drum. 

Cassandra picked up her drink and pointed at Renley. “This ball is a waste of time. Like all Orlesian foolishness.” 

Sera handed Renley a glass. “Thought I’d piss my pants watching you twirl around with the Duchess.” 

“Good shot by the way.” Renley raised her glass and the other three followed her example. 

“Learned my lesson in the Western Approach. Coryphemus can eat shit.” 

They cheered and finished their drinks, returning their glasses to the table with winces and shivers. 

“By the way,” Renley turned to Sera. “How did you smuggle your bow in?” 

The rest of the night came in flashes. Sera yelling down at a disheveled noble from atop a table. Cassandra arm wrestling a man with biceps as large as her head. Cullen removing his shirt and uncorking a bottle with the crook of his arm. 

The last thing she recalled was staggering through the streets of Halamshiral. Renley and Cassandra yelled sea shanties to the balconies while Sera, dangling by the waist from Cullen’s shoulder, contributed obscenities and maniacal laughter. 

The four marched on without a care in the world, partaking in a night whose details would be lost. But the essence of their outing would remain, and be recounted with fondness for years to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines that didn't make it in:  
> "Tis but a flesh wound."  
> "In pursuit of poultry."


	38. The Left Hand of the Divine

Renley awoke with a splitting headache. She was wearing last night’s clothes and hadn’t even bothered to take off her boots from the feel of it. With a groan, she sat up and observed her surroundings. 

Her heart leapt into her throat. She was in a bed and she wasn’t alone. With as much stealth as she could muster, Renley peeled back the blankets and found a fully clothed Cassandra.

“Oh, thank god.” Renley exhaled and rubbed her eyes with her palms. “It’s just you.”

Cassandra squinted against the pale morning sun. “It is too bright in here.”

A flash of blonde appeared over the foot of the bed. Cullen, wide eyed and disheveled, locked eyes with Renley. “Where are my clothes?”

Silence beamed between the two, born of a sudden recollection of the prior night's events. Renley grinned as the Commander reddened. “Wicked Grace just isn’t your forte, is it?”

Cullen leapt to his feet with a pillow covering his privates. He bolted for the door but hesitated at the threshold.

Sera’s voice came from a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of the chamber, “There’s a sight I wasn’t expecting to wake up to.”

The Commander turned, if possible, even redder. He opened the door and plunged into the morning. A squeal disturbed the peaceful stillness of the days first hours, and laughter erupted between the remaining three companions.

***

Having changed out of her Inquisition formal attire, Renley set her feet for the nearest inn. The air was mild and the alleys were empty but for a lone stranger leaning on the threshold to the tavern. 

She straightened as Renley approached. “Might I have a word?”

Waves of long brown hair curtained a pretty face that had been darkened by the sun and dotted with delicate freckles. Her dark eyes bore into Renley’s with an alarming sense of insight. 

The woman smirked at the weary Inquisitor. “It’s my understanding that you wish to make use of my intelligence.” 

“Oh.” Renley raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t recognize you without-” 

“A mask is a useful tool when utilized appropriately.” Briala gestured forward and Renley fell into step beside her. “Here it would serve only to attract prying eyes.” 

The streets of the city blossomed with color. Every corner was adorned with multi-colored heraldry and creeping vines. 

“I was hoping to catch you before the Inquisition departed for Skyhold,” said Briala. 

“And you have,” Renley replied. “Are you satisfied with how things turned out last night?” 

“I am. And I intend to repay the favor.” 

“I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly.” 

The people of Halamshiral were stirring, readying for the day with morning greetings and shared coffees. 

Briala gave every appearance of belonging among them. “I’ll admit, you piqued my interest in your willingness to cooperate. Whatever information you desire must be very pressing indeed.” 

“Any information is useful information.” Renley weighed her next words carefully. “But what I’m looking for is a bit more personal.” 

“I’m all ears, Inquisitor.” 

“There are two elves. I’m wondering if you or your network might know of them. One died at the conclave in Haven. She was from the clan Lavellan.” 

“Most Dalish prefer to keep to themselves. It surprises me to hear they’d bother sending an envoy.” A wry smile turned the corner of Briala’s mouth. “I’m sure they regret it now. I’ve not heard anything from the clan Lavellan, but if that changes, you’ll be the first to hear of it.” 

They stepped into a bustling market square of common folk preparing their carts and stands for the day’s patrons. Renley made her next inquiry as they neared the other side, “The other one, her name is Ezra. Possibly elf blooded. Ties to the House of Repose.” 

“Hm.” Briala’s eyes glazed as she pondered the name. “The House of Repose takes great pains to conceal their identities. This information does me little good.” 

“You’d remember this one. Has red curls and green eyes. Introduces herself as a bard.” 

“Ezra.” Briala studied the name with her tongue. The noise of the square faded as they started down the next alleyway. “Does Ghislain hold any importance to you, Inquisitor?” 

“Should it?” 

“Alienages are terrible places to live, if not deadly.” Dust swirled through deepening shadows as they neared the next commons. “Many who live among them would do anything for a better life. Those who don’t look elven at first glance have an easier time of it. Ezra is not an elven name, and if the one you’re after is indeed elf blooded, I’d bet you coin she’s changed it.” 

They stepped out of the alley and sunlight stole Renley’s vision. Her eyes adjusted to a scene of devastation. Doors had been knocked off their hinges on soot darkened buildings. Red stained the stone that was visible beneath mounds of burned furniture and debris. 

At the center of the destruction stood a withering tree, its branches brittle and lifeless like the area around it. Briala’s stare ranged the length of Thedas as she gazed upon it. 

“What is this place?” breathed Renley. 

“An alienage of sorts, and the scene of a massacre.” She turned her gaze on Renley with a suffocating scrutiny. “Why are you inquiring into the affairs of elves?” 

Renley shifted her weight away from the other, uneasy with the direction their conversation was taking. “For starters, one of them may be trying to kill me.” 

Whatever she found in Renley’s demeanor seemed enough to soften her guard, but not without a warning. “Be weary of your influence, Inquisitor. I’ve heard promising things of you thus far, but were that to change, I would not hesitate to turn my spies against you.” 

A crow landed nearby and clicked its beak in their direction. 

Briala glanced at the bird, “Despite the enormity of my network, your description does ring a bell. Asura of the Ghislain Alienage.” 

“Asura.” Renley turned the name over in her mind. “How do you know of her?” 

“Another time, Inquisitor.” 

Renley scowled as Briala put distance between them. “You promised me information.” 

“I am needed elsewhere-” she produced a silver mask from her belt “-and you have summons of your own to tend to.” She stepped into the shadows of the nearest alleyway and was once more the faceless Marquise of the Dales. 

“Your Worship.” 

Renley turned and found a woman in Inquisition uniform standing at attention. The crow took wing and landed nimbly on the agent’s shoulder. 

“Lady Nightingale requests your presence. I will take you to her at your word.” 

The city brightened as they trekked through a winding maze of back alleys, but its colors and its people seemed somehow duller. Their journey ended at a stable, and the sight of the Spymaster quieted Renley’s musings. 

Leliana was adding the final touches to her horse’s saddle. Once again, she had forgone her chain mail in favor of lighter armor. Her shroud remained as a permanent fixture to her wardrobe. “I’ve received a message from Justinia.” 

“Ah.” Renley drew further into the stable and ran her hand along her horse’s muzzle. “So, you thought you’d wrangle me into an adventure, not even giving a second thought as to whether I’d actually go with you?” 

Leliana fixed her with a piercing stare. “You haven’t a choice.” 

“And you think you can you take away my autonomy? The nerve.” 

“I think my knowledge of last night’s events will sway you.” 

Renley chuckled, “Everyone was witness to last night’s events.” 

“At the Winter Palace, yes.” A teasing smile stole onto Leliana’s features. “But not of last night’s outing with your companions.” 

Renley froze. “You’re blackmailing me?” 

Leliana grabbed the reins of her horse and led them from the stable. 

Renley followed with her own. “As my Spymaster, I must insist that you yield your information.” 

“Empty threats won’t save you.” Leliana mounted her horse and set her sights for the road ahead. “Valence is a day’s ride away. We’ve no time to waste.” 

Renley hoisted herself into her saddle. “You’re ruthless.” 

“I’m effective.” She spurred her mount forward. “There are many ways to attain one’s desires. They needn’t always be harsh.” 

“Says the one whose blackmailing me.” 

Hooves echoed on cobblestone for a time, and soon they were out of the city and riding along the Imperial Highway. Once past the White Spire of Val Royeaux there was little standing in their way.

The shores of the Waking Sea lay far below, crashing into rocky plummets. The road snaked through rolling fields of emerald that ended in skies dotted with billowing clouds. 

“What do you know of the alienage in Halamshiral?” asked Renley. 

“Halamshiral doesn’t have an alienage. Its populace is mostly elven, excluding the High Quarter that consists exclusively of human nobility.” 

“Briala mentioned a massacre. She called the area an alienage of sorts.” 

“The slums.” Leliana raised a brow at Renley. “Or so they’re called. Celene burned them down to put an end to civil unrest in the city. Ironically, the events that followed led to the Orlesian Civil War.” 

“Jesus.” Renley shifted in her seat. “Briala threatened me just for asking about elves. Celene burns down their homes, and she jumps into bed with her.” 

“They have a very complicated history. And the heart is not always rational.” 

“Clearly.” 

“Other than idle threats, did Briala provide you with anything useful?” 

“Just a name. Asura of Ghislain. It could be the true identity of our bard.” 

“Ghislain?” A notch formed on Leliana’s brow. “That’s a long way from Redcliffe.” 

“If she’s from Orlais, her involvement with the House of Repose would make sense.” 

“I’ll look into it. Did she have information on Lavellan?” 

“No,” Renley sighed. “I wish the Divine had been less cryptic with the memories she revealed. She was profoundly vague.” 

“Justinia’s words...” Leliana kept her eyes to the path as she spoke, “ _I have failed you too._ You know what significance they hold?” 

“I do.” Renley glanced at her confidant. 

“Do you find it frustrating?” asked Leliana. “Watching those around you make their way to conclusions you’re already aware of?” 

Renley deepened her seat in the saddle. “You tell me. You know as much as I do at this point.” 

“Not everything.” 

The sea breeze whipped their cloaks about their shoulders. 

Renley considered the question. “It was comforting at first. I assumed that under my influence, everything would turn out just the way I wanted. The perfect outcome. That delusion died at Adamant.” 

“We don’t often speak of the aftermath of Adamant,” Leliana responded softly. “Or Hawke.” 

The very sound of the name seemed to take the air around them with it. 

“Hawke was...” Renley cleared her throat. “She was unlike anyone I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t trade our time together, even knowing how it would end.” She looked to Leliana and found understanding in her gaze. “And…what about you?”

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t think of Ursa often. I only wish I knew what became of her.”

A long look passed between them. The tide crashed against the rocky shores below and the wind picked up in earnest. Clouds mingled on the horizon and formed a dark mass pierced with shards of sun. 

The two turned back to the path and rode on into the toiling skies ahead.

*** 

They arrived at the Valence Cloister late in the afternoon. The day had darkened prematurely beneath the influence of a developing storm. The weather entered the Chantry with them, seeping over the threshold like an unseen fog. 

Andraste's likeness beckoned to them at the end of a gallery lined with sculptures of her disciples. Leliana knelt in greeting. “It’s just as I remember it.” 

Rain tapped against windows set just below vaulted ceilings. Firelight danced along the walls casting an other-worldly illumination to the golden inlays of marble pillars. Renley walked to Leliana’s side and took in the ambiance.

Leliana looked her over. “What?”

“Hm?” 

“You have that look.” 

“Do I?” Renley smiled at the look of fondness in Leliana’s expression. “I’m just waiting.” 

“Leliana?” A woman in Chantry robes rounded the corner. “Is that you?” 

“Sister Natalie, what are you doing here?” Leliana was warm towards her acquaintance, but Renley knew better. Leliana embraced the sister and fixed Renley with a cold stare. She introduced them as they broke apart. “Inquisitor, this is Natalie. A trusted friend.” 

“Wait.” Natalie flustered at the title. “Inquisitor? You...you brought the Inquisitor here?” She bowed to Renley. “My lady, forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.” 

Renley smirked at the irony. That the Sister would embrace the legitimate threat and kneel to the unlikely one was just a bit off base. “You owe me twenty readings of the Canticle of Trials for that insult.”

Natalie’s brow furrowed. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” said Leliana. 

Natalie rose and they ventured further into the Chantry. An obscene number of candles had been lit, contributing a dreamy aura to the holy dwelling. Renley wandered among the paintings and braziers as Leliana finessed what information she desired from the Sister. 

Renley began feeling along the frames of the paintings and sure enough, three mechanisms had been installed in various corners of the Chantry. When the last was triggered, a section of wall fell away, revealing an ornate golden box atop a pedestal. 

When Leliana laid eyes on it, she rounded on Natalie. She shoved her into the base of Andraste’s likeness and brought her blade to the Sister’s throat. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

Renley looked on with baited breath as the pivotal moment in Leliana’s story unfolded. Leliana glanced at her and something in Renley’s gaze gave her pause. Time seemed to slow with their wordless communication.

Natalie was no captive to their moment. Her reality lay beneath the edge of a blade. She pushed Leliana with all her might, a gamble that paid off but only for a moment. Leliana stepped forward with glacial hostility, her eyes flicking to the knife that had appeared in the Sister’s hand.

Renley’s legs moved of their own accord, and all at once Natalie was beneath her. Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of her dagger. A nearly imperceptible prick struck her thigh as she brought the blade down and plunged it into Natalie’s heart.

A gurgling gasp left the Sister’s lips and the life faded from her eyes. 

The rain came harder, filling the Chantry with a steady rhythm that somehow deepened the silence. Renley released the dagger and stumbled to her feet. The blade stayed buried to its hilt in the Sister’s chest.

Leliana went to her side. “Are you alright?” 

The blood pooled from Natalie’s body and touched the candles at Andraste’s feet. Their flames faltered as though a breeze had swept through them. When they settled, they seemed to burn brighter. For the briefest of moments, Renley’s thoughts teetered on the precipice of doubt, but the recesses of her mind snapped shut, preventing for once the deep dive into morals and outcomes.

She looked down to her leg where a knife no longer than her hand protruded from her thigh. She wrenched it free and tilted her chin to the Divine’s calling. “Open it.” 

After a beat of hesitation Leliana approached the pedestal. There was a soft click as the hatch was released. “There's nothing here.”

Her discovery was met with silence.

“There’s a message carved in the lid. _The Left Hand should lay down her burden._ She...she’s releasing me.”

Renley approached the pedestal and stood by Leliana’s side. Their cloaks brushed as they looked down at the box. 

“All this time, Justinia carried the fear that she was using me,” said Leliana. “Just like I’d been used in the past. But Marjolaine’s games were trifles. Justinia gambled with the fate of nations.” 

Renley looked her over. “How do you feel?” 

“ _Lay down your burden_.” She replaced the lid. “I looked at you and saw someone who knows the way through the shadows.” Leliana met Renley’s gaze. “I was like that once you know. But everything changes, and things are never as simple as we’d like them to be.”

“You’re nearly as cryptic as the Divine.” Renley smirked, “Fitting I suppose.” 

“I am more than what they made me.” Leliana looked back to the box. “But I won’t forget their lessons.” 

***

They braved the storm and rode for Val Royeaux, but the path proved perilous. Droves of rain reduced their visual field to the ears of their mounts. They stopped at the first village they came across. 

With their horses stabled they entered the village inn. It was a sizeable establishment with a roaring hearth and a fair number of patrons. Not one of them looked around as the pair made their way to the bar. 

A bright-eyed barmaid greeted them with a kind smile, “What can I do you for?” 

“Do you have any rooms available?” asked Renley. 

“You’ve come at a bad time milady.” The maiden leaned on the bar. “We’re all booked up but for one. But I’ll tell you what-” she procured two tankards and filled them with wine “-if you rent the room, I’ll keep the drink coming on the house. The rain drives customers inward, and I’ve a soft spot for weary travelers.” 

Renley smiled and placed a generous amount of coin on the bar. “Sounds more than fair. Thank you.” 

The barmaid's eyes widened at the offering. “For that price I’ll make sure you never see the bottom of your tankards. Room’s the last one on the left when you’ve a mind to retire.” 

They made their way to a table with a low burning candle. The tavern was intimate to say the least. Patrons huddled around their drinks, speaking in murmurs to their companions. Herbs hung from the rafters mingling the sour scent of ale with lavender. 

A man in the corner had his feet propped on a table, and might’ve been mistaken for someone sleeping had it not been for the lute in his lap on which he was strumming a wistful tune. 

“So.” Renley ran her fingers through her hair and looked down at her tankard. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now spill the details on this blackmail you’re holding over me.” 

Leliana chuckled, “There is no blackmail.”

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“You would have come regardless.” 

Renley sat forward and rested her arms on the table. “I resent that.” 

“Resent all you like.” She brought her tankard to her lips. “It is still true.” 

They sat for a time, their eyes glazing. As the barmaid had promised, the wine in their vessels was bottomless. The tension of the day loosened and their conversation ventured to more serious topics. 

“No, I swear.” Renley took a swig from her drink before continuing. “Where I’m from there’s an entire kingdom dedicated to a mouse. Millions of people flock there every year.” 

“I’m beginning to wonder if everything you’ve told me has been a lie.”

“Believe what you want, but I’d never lie to you.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” A shiver rolled through Renley’s shoulders, whether from the chill of her still damp clothes or the gaze of the Spymaster was hard to say. “Ask me anything.” 

“A bold request.” Leliana placed her chin in her hand, the other fingering absentmindedly at the handle of her drink.

A crooked smile prefaced Renley’s reply. “Subtlety isn’t my strong suit.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Around them the tavern was emptying. The barmaid was distracted by a young suitor, and their tankards for the first time that evening were nearly empty. They watched as the lady drew in her admirer with suggestive smiles and subtle touches of the arm.

“We should leave them to it,” said Leliana.

Renley smiled at the pair and returned her tankard to the table. “We should.”

Their room was sparse but included the necessities. A fire was burning low in a small hearth of brick and mortar. Renley placed a fresh log atop the embers and watched as fire took hold of the wood. 

She shrugged her cloak from her shoulders and hung it on the mantel, basking as she did so in the warmth taking hold of her sleeves. The heat emanating from the rising fire dried the rain from her hands, making the remaining moisture on her skin all the more prominent.

As though in tune with her thoughts, Leliana approached with a cloth of linen and offered it to Renley. She accepted the gesture and her confidant lingered.

Rain pattered against the window and the hearth crackled. Renley settled the cloth over her shoulder and worked at the clasps of her jerkin. The fire warmed leather was hot against her skin. Fingers brushed against her own as Leliana took over the fastenings.

The garment slid from her arms and fell at their feet. Leliana’s hands then wandered to the strings at Renley’s waist. Their eyes met and she found the blue of Leliana’s, dancing in firelight and posing a question.

The air between them seemed an entity of its own. It stirred as the moment drew on, inflamed by their hesitation. The being was tangible as Renley reached through it, and as her hands came to rest on either side of Leliana’s neck, it enveloped them.

Wood split in the fire and the light through Renley’s lids turned red. She had always set the pace with intimacy, but beneath more experienced hands she found herself helpless.

Fingers teased the reactions they desired from her. A hitch in her breath brought a smirk to her partner’s lips, and though she wanted nothing more than to return the temptation outright, the weight of her body and the torment of her touch enticed her into submission.

They shared a night together in an act whose outcomes could not be predicted, but it mattered little. Rain sang softly on the roof of the inn, and for a time, the problems of Thedas ceased to exist.


End file.
